Lie Down With A Lion
by claire-chan143
Summary: On Hiatus For 2 Months
1. Summary

Summary

Archaeologist Mikan Sakura is prepared for almost anything when she returns to her family home in Kyoto, Japan ….. Except the news that her brother, Ruka, has just been seriously wounded in a sniper attack in Central Town. She rushed back to Tokyo to be with him, only to come up against no-nonsense Natsume Hyuuga, who was slightly wounded in the attack.

In his work as an Alice Agent, Natsume is the best, but he's willing to break the rule to track down his and Ruka's would-be killer. Natsume believes the official investigation is going in the wrong direction – especially when he learns that Mikan is like a surrogate daughter and a confidante to her family's Northern Woods neighbor – the prime minister of Japan.

When Natsume suspects that Mikan has held back crucial information, he follows her to Northern Woods. Because Nate will let nothing – not his and Mikan's growing attraction for each other, not the mounting danger they face – stand in the way of the truth. But in a place filled with betrayal, greed and long held secrets, truth is guarded with a deadly vengeance.


	2. Prologue

She lifted the receiver, but didn't get a chance to say hello. "Mikan." She barely recognized her brother. "God…" His voice was weak, breathless.

Mikan gripped the phone hard. "Ruka? What's wrong? What-"

"I made Natsume call you. I… _damn_."

"Are you in Tokyo?" She could hear sirens in the background, people shouting, and felt panic rising in her throat. "Ruka, talk to me! What's going on? Who's Natsume?"

A fat bumble bee landed on the rim of her tea glass. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think as she waited for her brother to answer.

"I've been shot. I'll be okay"

"Ruka!" She jumped to her feet. "Ruka, where are you? What can I do?"

Another voice came into the line. "Miss Sakura? Natsume Hyuuga. I work with your brother. Is someone there with you?"

"No. No, I'm here alone. Ruka-"

"He wanted you to hear the news from him. A paramedic's with him now. We've got to go. I'll call you as soon as I can with more information."

"Wait – don't hang up! Where was he shot? How bad is it?"

"He took a bullet to the left upper abdomen." Natsume Hyuuga's voice was professional, unemotional, but Mikan thought she heard ripple of something else. Pain, dread. "Paramedics are coming for me. Sorry, I've got to go. We'll get you more information. I promise."

His words sank in. "Have you been shot, too? My God-"

The line went dead.


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

After ninety minutes, the press conference dribbled to a close. As far as Natsume Hyuuga was concerned, the whole thing could have been wrapped up in fifteen minutes, tops. Announce the results of the joint fugitive task force. Outline its future. Answer a few questions.

Done.

But the reporters had an uncanny ability of coming up with another way of asking what they'd just asked and politicians of saying what they'd just said. And the Alice Agency and Tokyo Police Department brass wanted their fair share credits, deservedly so, maybe, but Natsume just wanted to get back to work.

He cleared his way out of the airless meeting room on the ground floor of a fancy Central Town Hotel- the choice of mayor's office - and made his way out to the street, welcoming the blast of chilly Tokyo air.

* * *

It was midday. Traffic was bad some of the pedestrian had their umbrellas, but it wasn't really raining. Just misting, not even drizzling. People were craving real spring air – it was the first week in May – but it felt like March again.

Ruka Nogi, a fellow agent, stood next to Natsume and hunched his shoulders against the cold. "My southern blood is protesting."

Natsume glanced at his colleague. They both had their best dark suits, plus their nine-millimeter semiautomatics, their cuffs, their badges – the hard – ware wasn't visible, but Natsume doubted that they can pass for Tokyo businessmen, either. "Air feels good to me."

"It would. I'll bet the snow hasn't melted you came from."

Hokkaido. Natsume hadn't been home since his sister Aoi's wedding in February. "My uncle tells me there's still snow on the ridge. It's melted in the valleys."

"The frozen north." Ruka gave an exaggerated shiver. He had the kind of blond good looks and irresistible effect on the female support staff – and more than one female agent. "Tokyo's plenty cold enough for me. Come on. I need to dose of spring time. Let's check out the tulips in the Central Town Park."

"Tulips? Ruka, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I saw about a million tulips when I was in the Holland a couple weeks ago visiting my folks," He gave Natsume an unabashed grin. "I'm kind of into them right now."

Before Natsume respond, Ruka seized on break traffic and jaywalked across Central Town Hotel. Natsume, who was taller an lankier, followed at a slower pace, still un accustomed to his fellow agent's wide range of interests. He had no idea how or why Ruka Nogi had ended up in the Alice Agency, never mind being assigned to southern Tokyo district. The Nogis were prominent Kyoto family – Ruka had been educated at privet school abroad in Nashville and Washington, D.C., and graduated from Georgetown. He'd done a year in Paris. He'd been everywhere and spoke six or seven language, including Arabic and Farsi. Sooner or later, someone in Tokyo would reel him and put him to work in the intelligence.

* * *

After just four months in Tokyo, Ruka noticed everything. After three years, Natsume didn't even notice the noise and grime anymore. He liked the city, but he didn't delude himself. He wasn't staying there. There talk of sitting him at a desk at Alice head – quarters in New York. It would be a major promotion after more than half dozen years in being a field agent.

He and Ruka walked down the steps at Fifth Avenue and the Fifty-Ninth Street and entered the normal busy southeast corner of the town. But on such miserable day, it was quiet; the noontime traffic above them almost distant, as if they'd entered an oasis in the middle of the tall buildings and millions of people.

The grass wash lush and green, the spring leaves thickening on the trees and brush on the steep bank along the Central town park fence and the famous elliptical – shaped pond. There was enough of a drizzle to cause pinpricks across the pond's gray water.

"The tulips are something, aren't they?" Ruka walked up the gently curving path along the edge of the pond. "My sister says they're done for in Kyoto."

"Ruka, Christ. I've got to work to do. I can't be wasting time looking at the flowers."

"What's the matter? We hard-ass agents can't appreciate tulips?"

Natsume made himself take in the thousand of tulips that blossomed in waves on the sloping lawn to the right path, opposite the pond. Crimson, Dark Pink, light Pink, white – they added a cheerful touch of color against the gloom. "Alright. I've appreciated the tulips."

"When do tulips bloom in Hokkaido? July?"

"We're a couple weeks behind Tokyo."

Probably more than a couple weeks this year, according to his uncle. Even for a tried-and-true Northern Japan like Gus Winter, it had been a long winter. More snow than normal, more days with temperatures that fell below zero – and a Valentine's Day wedding in the middle of it. Natsume's younger sister, Aoi, and childhood friend, Youichi Hijiri, had finally married. They'd almost made it to the altar the previous Valentine's Day, but cancelled it at the last moment. It had taken a murder and a dangerous showdown with a madman on infamous Sapporo's Cold Ridge before they came to their senses and finally married.

No one had said, "One down, one more to go," but Natsume had heard the words in his mind. He had no intention of getting married while he was working on the streets. He'd been orphaned as a little boy. He liked not having anyone worrying he'd come home that late. A wife, kids. A dog. He didn't even own a cat.

His uncle was in his fifties now and had never married. He was just twenty when he'd ended up raising his nephew and two nieces after their parents died of exposure on the ridge that loomed over their small town of the same name.

Natsume had left Hokkaido at sixteen and never went back to live.

He never would.

"I caught the dogwoods when I was home in April," Ruka said in his amiable southern accent.

"You don't see so many Cherry Blossoms up here."

"Ruka? Are you going to keep talking about goddamn flowers all afternoon?"

"Cherry Blossoms are flowering tree – "

"I know. Give me a break."

"You should come to Kyoto. My sister – " Ruka flinched suddenly, his body jerking back and up, his knees stiffening as he grab his upper left abdomen and swore. "Fuck. Natsume…_shit_…"

Natsume drew his Heckler & Koch, but told himself Ruka could just be having a back spam or a heart attack. The guy almost never swore. Something had to be wrong. Maybe a bee sting. Was he allergic?

Ruka staggered back a step, his suitcoat falling open.

Blood.

It seeped between his fingers and spread across his white shirt on his upper left side.

A lot of blood.

"I've been shot," he said sinking.

Natsume caught him around the middle with his left arm, still holding the HK in his right hand, and glanced around for cover, spotted a rock out copping near the pond on the other side of the path.

The shooter – where the hell was he?

* * *

Ruka tried to keep his feet moving, but Natsume more or less dragged him toward the rocks, and then realized he hadn't heard any gunfire. Apparently no one else had, either. People were going about their own business. Two elderly women with Prada Limited edition bag, a middle-aged man jogging on the path, a park worker inside a fenced area near the far edge of the tulips.

They were all potential targets.

"Get Down!" Natsume yelled. "_Now_!"

The park worker dove for the ground without hesitation. The women and the jogger were confused at first, and then did likewise, covering their heads with their hands and going still, not making a sound.

The rocks seemed a million miles away. Natsume had no idea where the shot had come from. Fifth Avenue? Central Town Hotel? The undergrowth along the shore of the pond presented a number of places for a shooter to conceal himself.

A trained sniper could be within hundreds of yards.

A bullet tore into Natsume's upper left arm. He knew instantly what it was. He swore but didn't let go of Ruka, didn't let go of his semiautomatic.

Definitely no gunfire. Even with the street noise, he should have heard a shot.

The asshole was using a silencer.

"Put pressure on your wound," he told Ruka.

"Don't let go. You hear me? I'll get help."

But before Natsume could get his feet, a mounted Tokyo Police officer rode towards them. "What's - " "Sniper." Natsume cut in. "Get your horse before – "

He didn't even need to finish. The Tokyo cop saw Ruka's bloody front, saw his badge on his belt and dismounted, shouting into his radio for Help. Agents down. Sniper at the pond in the Central Town Park.

Natsume knew cavalry would be there in seconds.

The young Tokyo cop stayed calm and crept toward the rocks. "You both hit?"

Natsume nodded. "We're Alice Agents. The shooter's using a silencer."

"All right. Stay cool."

Ruka moaned, his arm falling away from his wound. Natsume took over, applying pressure with his hand, as he'd learned in his first aid training. He could feel his own pain now. His suit jacket was torn and bloody where the bullet had ripped through the fabric. What caliber? Where was that bastard who'd shot him?

Who was next?

The Tokyo cop yelled instruction to bystanders. Sirens. Lots of Sirens on the streets above them. Natsume looked at the thousand of tulips brightening the dull landscape.

What the hell had just happened?

End Of Chapter 1

* * *

Love it? Or Hate it?


	4. (AN)

My deepest and sincere apologies for not be able to update a new chapter for the past 4 weeks and 4 days because of #1 school activities #2 projects/homework's and #3 examinations... but I hope within next week I could update a chapter for "Night's Landing" and "Unmarked". Again, Sorry...

* * *

I wanted to say Thank You to:

April Twelving

LittleLiar666

Meocaroba

Miss Evana

MizuKaze53

Odd Little Musings

bottled happiness

chaesy

mybeyondinfinity

spica14

strawberry2795

For following Night's Landing...

* * *

And To:

2Empty

mybeyondinfinity

MizuKaze53

A-chan

For the reviews

* * *

Also to:

Fantasychick13

MizuKaze53

meLOVES'NATSUME

mybeyondinfinity

strawberry2795

For including Night's Landing on their favorites list...

* * *

I Promise to make the story more exciting and interesting...

~Claire-chan143


	5. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Mikan Sakura jammed a strawberry stick among the ice cubes and the slice of orange in her tall glass of sweet tea punch and sat back in the old wicker rocker on the front porch of her family's 1918 log house. The air was warm, not to hint yet of the heat and humidity that would come with the middle Kyoto summer, and the sky was washed from yesterday's rain. A gentle breeze floated up from the river and brought with it the faint scent of roses.

Somewhere nearby, a mockingbird sang.

Mikan had warned herself to be prepared for the worst when she came home. Leaks in the roof, un-mowed grass, bats, mice, and food rotting in the refrigerator – her parents had last been in Northern Woods in early April, though they wouldn't necessarily notice such things or have them tended to. But they'd hired a new "gardener" as her mother called the property manager, and he seemed to be working out. He hadn't disappeared yet, as so many of his predecessors had, and he was at his good job. The lawn was manicured; the flower and vegetable gardens were in top shape, and the house was in good repair on what a perfect early May afternoon.

* * *

The Sakura's had arrived on the Northern Woods in the late eighteen century and had been there since , sometimes eking out a living, sometimes managing quite nicely – always having adventures and too often dying young.

After just one sip of her tea punch, Mikan resolved not to drink the entire pitcher by herself. It was even sweeter than she remembered. She'd come home last at Christmas, but the tea punch was a summer treat. She'd only made it to Northern Woods once the previous summer, whirlwind visit that did not involve a leisurely afternoon on the porch.

The porch was shaded by a massive oak that she and her brother, Ruka, used to climb as children, but even the lower branch is was too high now. They'd sneak up there and spy on Oba-san Sakura and their father, arguing politics on the porch, or their mother as she snapped beans and hummed to herself, thinking she was alone.

Mikan had made the tea punch herself, dunking tea bags into Oba-san's old sun-tea bottle and setting it out on the Porch for an hour, then adding the litany of ingredients – frozen tangerine juice and lemon juice, mint extract, spices, sugar. She knew not to ponder too much or she'd never drink the stuff. She never had an urge for sweet tea punch except when she was home in Kyoto.

Her friends in Scotland had made faces when she'd describe Oba-san's recipe. Do you waste proper tea on it?" Well no. She didn't. She used the cheapest tea bags she could find.

She took her friends' chiding in stride. It wasn't as if they didn't have oddities in their comfort cuisine.

She'd spent two weeks in Scotland in the fall and the past three months straight, working nonstop, completing – yes that was the word, she told her self – the final project series of the projects under on huge heading: The Anju's House. How dry and Ordinary it sounded. Yes it had consumed her since high school, before she even knew what historical archeology was.

The Anjus had arrived on the Northern Wood not that long after the Sakura's . Mikan knew their family history, the history of their post – civil war house downriver, of the land it was built on, better than she did her own. She'd written articles and papers, she'd done interviews and research; she'd organized archeological digs on the site; she'd preserved documents and artifacts: she'd scrambled for grants; she'd helped create a private trust worked with the state and federal government to preserve Anju house as an historical site: and now produced a documentary that took the family back to its roots in Japan.

It was time to move on. Find something else to do.

She had no idea what but pushed back any thought of possibilities before it could explode into a full-blown obsession, as it had on the long trip home from Scotland. What would she do _now? _Teach full-time? Work for a foundation? A museum? Find a new project?

Have a life?

Mikan yanked her strawberry stick out of her glass and licked the end of it, watching dappled shade on the rich, green lawn. She wondered if her grandfather, who'd built the log house in order to attract a bride, had ever imagined that dams would raise the river and bring it closer to the front porch, if he'd ever pictured how beautiful the landscape would be almost a hundred years later – if he'd ever guessed that his family would become so attached to it. Mikan had never known him. He'd died an early tragic death like so many Sakuras before him.

When she was a little girl, she'd believe stories that the logs for the house had come from trees cut down, blown down or otherwise destroyed when the Japanese Army Corps of engineers dammed up the Northern Woods for flood control and hydroelectric power, until she realize that the dams had been built decades _after_ the house.

More than most in the middle of Kyoto, her family had a flare storytelling and would go to great lengths, including embellishment, to make an already good story better.

She was convinced it was one of the reason her father was such a natural diplomat. He didn't necessarily believe anything anyone told him, but at the same time, he didn't condemn them for stretching the truth, exaggerating, tweaking and otherwise making what they had to say suits their ends. To Izumi Sakura, that was all perfectly normal.

Mikan had no intention of making researching her own family her next career. It was enough to have researched her Northern Woods neighbors – especially when the last of the Anjus had been elected to the Imperial Palace. She'd promised Narumi Anju – Prime Minister Anju – that he could be the first to view her documentary, which was finished, edited, _done_. But he couldn't ask her to change anything.

That was the deal.

A mockingbird was singing somewhere nearby. Mikan smiled, watching a boat make its way to its way upriver along the steep bluffs on the opposite bank, and drank more of her tea. Maybe it wasn't too sweet, after all.

Maybe, despite having nothing particular to do, this time she wouldn't get herself into trouble. She'd never done well with time on her hands. She hated being bored. She like in dependence her work afforded her, being her own boss, making her natural impulsiveness a virtue rather than a liability. Some of her best work had started out as wild-goose chases. But when she had no focus, nothing to anchor her, her impulsiveness hadn't always served her well. Once, she tried building her own boat and nearly drowned. Another time she'd tried her hand at frog-gigging and came up with a leg full of leeches. Then there was the time she'd ended up, on a whim, in Peru with nowhere near enough money to get by.

No affairs, anyway. She'd learn not to be impulsive with men.

* * *

The telephone rang, interrupting her mind wandering. She set her glass on a rickety old table and reached for the ancient, heavy dial phone that had been wired up for the porch for as long as she could remember. It would never die. The phone company would have to come for it and tell them they couldn't use it anymore.

It was probably a solicitor. Not many people knew she was home. Her parents, but they were in America. Ruka, but he was on duty in Tokyo he'd promised to get up there soon to see him. Her Scottish friends.

The Prime minister, except Narumi Anju didn't call that often.

Virtually none of her Kyoto friends and relatives knew she was back in the Northern Woods. It had been a week – she had only just recovered from jet lag.

She lifted the receiver, but didn't get a chance to say hello. "Mikan." She barely recognized her brother. "God…" His voice was weak, breathless.

Mikan gripped the phone hard. "Ruka? What's wrong? What-"

"I made Natsume call you. I… _damn_."

"Are you in Tokyo?" She could hear sirens in the background, people shouting, and felt panic rising in her throat. "Ruka, talk to me! What's going on? Who's Natsume?"

A fat bumble bee landed on the rim of her tea glass. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think as she waited for her brother to answer.

"I've been shot. I'll be okay"

"Ruka!" She jumped to her feet. "Ruka, where are you? What can I do?"

Another voice came into the line. "Miss Sakura? Natsume Hyuuga. I work with your brother. Is someone there with you?"

"No. No, I'm here alone. Ruka-"

"He wanted you to hear the news from him. A paramedic's with him now. We've got to go. I'll call you as soon as I can with more information."

"Wait – don't hang up! Where was he shot? How bad is it?"

"He took a bullet to the left upper abdomen." Natsume Hyuuga's voice was professional, unemotional, but Mikan thought she heard ripple of something else. Pain, dread. "Paramedics are coming for me. Sorry, I've got to go. We'll get you more information. I promise."

His words sank in. "Have you been shot, too? My God-"

The line went dead.

Mikan's hand shook so badly she had trouble cradling the receiver. Was Natsume Hyuuga another Agent? She knew very little about her brother's work. He knew even less about hers. Historical archeology – he'd say he didn't know what it was. _Traditional archeology studies prehistoric people and cultures. Historical archeology is a sub-discipline of archeology that studies people and culture that existed during recorded history. _

She'd given Ruka that explanation dozens of times.

He chased fugitives. Armed and Dangerous fugitives. She knew that much.

Her teeth were chattering, and she was pacing.

Gulping for air.

"Mikan-chan?"

* * *

Tsubasa Ando, her parents' new property manager, walked slowly up the porch steps, his concern evident. He had on his habitual overalls and Kyoto Titans shirt, his dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was fair and lean and had a black star tattoo on his upper left cheek below the eye.

"Mikan-chan, you don't look so good." He spoke. "Is there anything I can for you?"

"I need - " she took in another breath, but couldn't seem to get any air. It was as if her entire body was trying to absorb the shock of Ruka's call. "I need to wait for a phone call. My brother…" She couldn't finish, just kept trying to get air into her lungs.

The old porch floor, painted a dark evergreen, creak under Tsubasa's weight. He was a year or two than she was twenty-four and smaller. Her parents had found him down the dock fishing when they were for a few days. Trespassing, really, but he'd explained that he'd just move to Kyoto and was looking for work. Since they'd come home to a leaky ceiling in the living room and an overgrown yard, they offered him a job. He'd worked hard every day since Mikan arrived in the Northern Woods a week ago. He lived in the Oba-chan Sakura's old cottage down by the river, close to the woods between the Sakuras and the Anju.

Oba –chan had lost a husband in a logging accident, a son in the World War II. Her surviving son's first wife had died after a struggle with multiple sclerosis. Oba-chan built the cottage for herself.

Mikan knew the story of how her father had almost withered away here in Northern Woods after his wife's/her mother's death, until he meet Ruka's mother, twelve years his junior, the young and vibrant Yuka Azumi a women even Oba-chan had come to believe had change the Sakura luck.

Mikan could feel her heart thumping in her chest.

Not another Sakura tragedy…not Ruka…

What about your brother, Mikan-chan?"

Tsubasa was invariably polite and deferential. She suspected he was a country musician looking for a big break in Kyoto. She'd heard him play acoustic guitar on the cottage porch early in the morning and late in the evening.

"Mikan-chan?"

"Ruka – he's been shot."

The words felt no less surreal now that she'd said them herself.

Biting back tears, trying to breathe normally, she told Tsubasa about her brother's call from Tokyo, Natsume Hyuuga, and his promise to call her as soon as possible.

"What a shame Mikan. What a crying shame." He shook his head and exhaled forcefully, as if it would ease his own tension. "Who'd want to shoot two people like that?"

"Ruka's an Alice Agent. They're called agents. I didn't know that when first started. An Agent spies up each district – they're not deputies. They're appointed by the president. I -" She didn't know what Ruka was doing."

"The agency must have an office in Kyoto. They'll send someone out here. You just sit tight" Tsubasa spoke with confidence as he withdrew a faded blue bandana from his back pocket and wiped away the dirt and grease in his fingers. "You're your brother's closest kin in the company aren't you? The agency will take good care of you."

Mikan's stomach twisted. "My parents. They're in Paris. Oh, God. Who's going to tell them?" "Let the agency do it. You don't have enough information yet. If you try calling now, you'll just scare them, maybe unnecessarily."

Tsubasa's steady manner helped her regain her composure. She felt someone is standing on her chest – she couldn't get air – and made herself breathe from the diaphragm, counting to four as she in haled through her nose, then to eight as she exhaled trough her mouth.

"Ruka was able to talk," she said. "That's a good sign, don't you think?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Why don't you go inside and throw some cold water on your face? That always helps me when I've had the rug pulled out from under me."

Cold water. She wondered if she looked as if she was going to pass out.

"Go on," Tsubasa said calmly. "I'll go down to the cottage and get cleaned up, then come back here and stay with you until the agency get here of this agent with you talked to calls back."

"You don't think he will, do you?"

"Not of he was shot, too, Mikan-chan. Doctors and FBI will have him sewn up. Now, go on. One step at a time, okay"

Mikan nodded. "Thank you. Ruka is my stepbrother. Did you know that?"

"I think your mother told me that."

Supposedly. It could have been another in a long string of Sakura enhancements. Although not a blood of Sakura, Yuka Azumi had fallen right in line with that particular Sakura tradition. Even letters and diaries from the nineteenth century that Mikan had uncovered in her Poe research had mentioned the Sakuras and their zest for drama and adventure. They'd made so many bad, romantic, impractical decisions that had led to disaster – which was exactly how their father had viewed Ruka's decision to become an agent. A bad decision that would lead to disaster..

But Mikan didn't know why she'd mentioned that their mothers are different – why she'd even thought of it.

Tsubasa didn't comment and walked back down on the porch steps with the same deliberateness as he'd mounted them. He paused, glancing up at Mikan as if to make sure she hadn't fallen apart in the few seconds he'd had his back turned. She couldn't smile. She couldn't do anything to reassure him.

"A splash of water of cold water, Mikan-chan," he repeated. "It'll help. I'll be back in a few minutes."

* * *

She managed to pull open the screen door and step into the front room with its walls of squared logs and thick, white caulking, with its old furnishings and frayed knitted afghans, its threadbare rugs, its wall of framed photographs. Her gaze land on an oval portrait of Granny Sakura at eighty, in her pink sweater and cameo pin, a woman who'd endured so much sorrow and tragedy, who'd nonetheless stayed strong and kept her spirit, her faith.

Mikan ran back to the kitchen and turned on the faucet in the old sink.

_"I've been shot. I'll be okay."_

Crying, she splashed her face with cold water and prayed those wouldn't be her brother's last words to her.

An hour after Mikan's brother took a bullet in the Central Town Park; two agents arrived at the arrived at the Sakura house in a black government car. They came all the way around to the front porch, which afforded her to give her brother his best and slip out the back door.

He didn't need to be introducing himself to a couple of agents.

As pretty as she was, Mikan looked like hell. Pale, frightened, splotchy-faced from the shock and tears. The other fed shot with her brother – Natsume Hyuuga – hadn't called her back. Understandable . The cable news channels reported that both he and Ruka Nogi were in surgery. Hyuuga was stable. Ruka Nogi was critical and unstable.

_If_ the reporters got it right. There was a lot of confusion and the agents weren't releasing much information.

Tsubasa had talked Mikan into shutting off the television. CNN, MSNBC and FOX were all carrying the story live, with helicopter shots of Central Town Park and manhunt for the sniper. They'd brought in experts to talk about what kind of person would do such a thing and explain what the Alice Agent was.

The repeated footage from the news conference that had preceded shooting and showed Natsume Hyuuga and Ruka Nogi standing behind the mayor, the Agents from their district, the chief alice agent , the assistant director in charge of the FBI, and the Tokyo police commissioner – an impressive gathering of state , federal and local law enforcement types.

Hyuuga was tall, rangy and all business.

Nogi looked like a frat boy.

Every time she saw the footage of her brother, Mikan went a little paler.

A joint FBI, Tokyo Police and Alice Agency news conference was scheduled for the later that night and would, Tsubasa suspected, tell people nothing. The agents would be playing it close to the vest when two of their own had just been picked off in the central town park in the broad daylight.

The all-news networks promised to carry, live, any briefing from the hospital where the two agents were being treated.

* * *

As he made his way down his cottage, Tsubasa stayed out of sight of the porch and any windows that could offer the agents a view of him. The breeze had strengthened into a stiff wind, damp and earthy smelling.

He entered through the back door, not making a sound. The cottage was made of the same rough logs as the main house and had an old-lady feel to it. Hand-crocheted afghans in bright, wear-ever yarns, doilies on the on the end tables, pink tile in the bathroom. When she'd shown him the place, Yuka had explained that her mother-in-law had built the cottage for herself after insisting her son live in the main house when returned to Northern Woods with his dying first wife. Even after her daughter-in-law died, Granny Sakura, as she was known by everyone, had stayed on in the cottage until her own death fifteen years ago.

The place has small kitchen, two tiny bedrooms and a front room and small porch that looked out at the river.

It could have been a tent for all Tsubasa cared.

A fishing boat with two old men talking loudly at each other puttered upstream, and Tsubasa had to fight an urge to find a boat and get the hell away from Northern Woods.

Misaki would want him to. _Get on with your life. You can't change what happened._

She wouldn't be fooled into believing it was justice he was after.

It was revenge . Absolution for his own guilt.

He pulled himself away from the front window.

Misaki would have loved it here. She'd never been a grasper – she'd talk about quitting the military and getting a little place in the country, having couple of kids. He was the one who wasn't ready to stand down. _A couple more years, Misaki. A couple more._

She hadn't had years the last time she'd brought up the subject.

She hadn't had months.

Only days.

And he wasn't with her when she died.

When she was murdered.

* * *

Tsubasa grabbed the pair of clippers he'd tossed onto. The kitchen counter earlier and headed back outside. He didn't know as much about gardening as he'd claimed to Izumi and Yuka Sakura, but they'd never bothered to test his knowledge of flowers, trees and shrubs or even check his phony references. He'd made sure he so looked the part of disarming, hard-working good ol' boy that they'd let it go.

He was from Tokyo, but the rest was pure fiction.

Concealed behind a cedar tree, he watched the two agents leave via back door, one of them carrying small suitcase, presumably Mikan's. But instead of following them, she came out onto the porch and trotted down the steps and across the yard to the cottage. "Tsubasa-sempai?" her voice sounded tight but more composed. "Tsubasa-sempai, I'm going to Tokyo to see Ruka. Where – "

He ducked out from his hiding place. "That's good, Mikan-chan."

She almost smiled. "You were right about the agents looking after me. I don't know how long I'll be gone. A few days, at least, I would think."

"You just go on and don't worry about anything here."

She seemed relieved, as if she'd expected him to evaporate on her. "I left my cell phone number on the refrigerator in case you need to reach me. You were right about the agents getting in touch with my parents, too. They just called. They're waiting to get more information after Ruka gets out of the surgery before they decide what to do."

How much information did they need? Their son had been shot. He was in surgery. As far as Tsubasa was concerned, they should get their butts on the plane.

But Izumi Sakura did important works. He was in Paris negotiating world peace or some damn thing. And he was old. A lot older than his wife forty or close to it. It couldn't be easy at that age to drop everything and fly across the Atlantic, even in an emergency.

Tsubasa put aside his disapproval; He didn't know what, if any role the Sakuras had played in his wife's death, only that Misaki had met them in Paris two days before she was killed. He wasn't even sure if the France authorities knew. Or if it mattered. The Sakuras had returned to the country the day after they met with Misaki, the day before she was killed. That was eight months ago. Tsubasa had arrived in Northern Woods in early April to check them out. They'd ended up hiring him/

He hadn't bothered using an alias. The Sakuras showed no sign that Ando was named they ought to know. Maybe Misaki had used alias with them? Maybe they didn't remember her name? They returned to Paris in February and rented an apartment on a canal. Hiring Tsubasa on a quick trip home in April was supposed to give them peace of mind while they were away – it wasn't easy for them to get back to Northern Woods to check on their place. Maybe they didn't know about Misaki's death.

Since coming to Kyoto, Tsubasa learned that the minister of Japan was a family friend who'd grown up next door. He had no idea if that had anything to do with Misaki's death or what he'd do if the secret service decided to check out the Sakura's new gardener.

He'd also searched every inch of the Sakura house.

He gave Mikan a reassuring smile. "I'll take care of the place while you're gone. You just take care of yourself and your brother."

"Thanks sempai. No wonder my parents were thrilled when you agreed to work here. Thanks for everything."

He didn't feel even a twinge of guilt. All Tsubasa needed to do if he felt guilty about duping the Sakura was picture his wife lying in a pool of her own blood. There'd be no civilian life for them. No quiet place in the country. No babies. The investigation into her murder kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. Tsubasa hadn't had an update in weeks. In the meantime, he had his own sources, his own methods. So far, they'd brought him to Northern Woods and the Sakuras.

He hadn't anticipated Ruka Nogi getting shot in Tokyo.

Who? Who was responsible? Did the shooting have anything to do with Misaki's murder?

He could hear her voice. _You're grasping at the straws, Tsubasa. Let the authorities do their job._

There wasn't necessarily a connection between what happened to Misaki Ando in Paris eight months ago and what had happened to Ruka Nogi and Natsume Hyuuga in Tokyo that afternoon.

Tsubasa watched the agents' sedan pull out of the long, curving driveway.

Yeah right. He didn't believe in coincidence.

There had to be a connection.

He snipped a dead branch off some kind of white flowering bush. An azalea, probably. He wasn't sure. Some gardener.

He wasn't an investigator by nature or training. He was a search-and-destroy specialist. His wife was the plotter, the thinker, the analyst.

She'd want him to call the police when he found her killer.

But he had a feeling he wouldn't do that.

-End Of Chapter-

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Please R&R..


	6. Chapter 3

Hey Guy!

Here's An Update of Night's Landing and I hope you'll like it...

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Natsume climbed off the exam table and continued his argument with his doctor – her badge identified her as Serina Yamada, and she was all of 5'5 tall and maybe thirty years old – about getting his pants and his shoes back and clearing out the E.R. He'd heard that the news reports had him surgery, but he'd only needed few stitches. But apparently that was plenty for Dr. Serina. She wanted him admitted.

"Pants, shoes, whatever paperwork I need to get out of here," he said. "A couple of Tylenol and I'll be fine."

She shook her head not for the first time. "No way. You can go home in the morning"

He'd turned his weapon and cuffs over to Hotaru Imai, another agent who'd arrived on the scene before he and Ruka were whisked away. The paramedics had shredded his shirt and jacket. Natsume figured he could tuck in his hospital gown and change when he got home. But it was hard not to look commanding and tough with gown flapping on his back end. Dr. Serina had explained that he had a perforating, not penetrating, wound, meaning she hadn't had to dog out the bullet that had struck him. The Alice Agency investigators were undoubtedly looking for it somewhere in Central Park. Maybe it was at the bottom of the pond. Maybe the ducks had made off with it.

Natsume didn't give a damn. He just wanted to get out of the hospital.

Dr. Serina didn't seem to consider the armed deputy posted at the exam room door anything out of the ordinary, probably because she'd treated plenty of wounded criminals. Natsume knew from his E.R. doctor sister Aoi, that it was her job as a doctor to treat the patient in front of her. Period. Meaning Dr. Serina would do her job whether he was a murder suspect or an agent with a six years experience catching bad guy.

She sighed through her teeth. "You are very determined man, Agent Hyuuga. At least let me get you into a room for a few hours. You can sit tight until your local anesthetic wears off."

"Doesn't it make more sense to get out of here while it's still working? I can have my feet up in front of the television before I start hurting."

She seemed singularly unimpressed with his argument. She crossed her arms on her chest and gave him a firm look. "You're la very lucky man, Agent Hyuuga. I don't think I'd be pushing my luck any more today."

What she meant, Natsume knew, was that the bullet that had ripped into the fleshy part of his upper arm had caused a superficial wound that would heal fast. No permanent damage. No surgery. A couple inches one way, the bullet would have missed him entirely. A couple of inches another way, it could have nicked an artery or shattered bone.

_Luck. _

He agreed to sit tight for a few hours.

Dr. Serina handed him his pants and shoes – he'd track down Longstreet for his weapon – and an orderly and the deputy guard wheeled him up stairs.

Natsume noticed the dried blood on the knee of his pants and the tops of his shoes.

Ruka's blood.

When he got to his floor, he understood the subtext of Dr. Serina's stubbornness. Control and security. No media allowed, more armed deputies/agents and a private waiting room for family members and any politician, FBI, Agents and Tokyo Police Department brass who wanted to check on the two wounded deputies.

No family members had arrived yet.

_Thank God._

Natsume didn't think he could deal with Rei Serio A.K.A. "Persona" and his sister right now. The politicians and law enforcement types in the waiting room stayed put when he was wheeled past the open door.

They wouldn't want him off on his own too fast. A sniper had just tried to take out two Alice Agents in Central Park. All hell had to be breaking loose.

A nurse greeted him in his private room. Natsume asked about Ruka.

"He's still in surgery."

"Any word on his prognosis?"

She shook her head.

After she left, Natsume ducked into the bathroom and put on his pants. He dampened a paper towel and scrubbed the blood off his shoes. Nothing to be done about the blood on his pants.

He checked his reflection and winced."Hell."

It wasn't just pressure from his bosses that had compelled Dr. Serina to want to admit him. It was her medical judgment. He looked like shit. He was pale, he had dark circle on his eyes, he'd cut his lip from biting down too hard – no wonder she didn't want him going home right away.

He washed his face, felt his stomach turn over, almost barfed and decided, okay, maybe he should take it easy. He staggered back out of the bathroom. Another Alice Agent Kokoro Yome was waiting for him. "Thought I was going to have to go in there and scrape you off the floor. How you feel?"

"Like I look"

"I was afraid of that. Up to talking?"

Natsume knew Koko, although they'd never worked together. The shooting of two Agents was a federal crime that fell on the FBI to investigate, with the assistance of Alice and the Tokyo Police Department. The agents handled fugitive investigation and apprehension, prisoner transport, witness protection, the security of the federal judiciary and special operations – evidence gathering in federal criminal investigations was up to the FBI.

Natsume nodded. "Sure. Excuse the outfit."

"You've got someone bringing you a change of clothes?"

His uncle Persona would have been contacted by now in Hokkaido, about a six-hour drive to Tokyo unless they got a shuttle flight from there. (A/N: Don't know the exact hours of drive.) Aoi was in Kanagawa. Closer. But she was almost eight months pregnant. Maybe she'd stay put.

Not a chance

And his brother-in-law would be at her wife side.

Another Agent, straight backed, tense looking, maybe in her mid-twenties, stood silently in the corner by the bathroom.

"Any word on Ruka?

"He lost spleen," Koko said. "You can live without a spleen. It's the blood lost the doctors are worried about. It's still touch-and-go."

Natsume remembered the paramedics talking about internal bleeding at the scene. He didn't respond. What was there to say?

"How're you doing?" Koko asked.

"Fine."

The Agent gives him a look that said they both knew better.

"We walked down to Central Park after the news conference. Ruka – Christ, he wanted to see tulips. Someone shot us." Natsume sat on the edge of his hospital bed. "That's it. End of story."

Except he knew it wasn't. Koko would want to ask why they went into the park, who knew they'd be at the news conference, what they saw – and that was just for starters.

At this point, Natsume doubted anyone thought it was a random shooting, a guy concealed somewhere in or around the park with an assault rifle and a silencer, waiting for the right moment, as opposed to the right victims to shoot.

"He had to have an escape route," Natsume said.

"One thing at a time."

Koko took him through the shooting step by step, minuet by minuet. Natsume could feel his anesthetic slowly wearing off, the bandage heavy on his arm, the reality of what had happened earlier in the day hitting him. He'd been taking down fugitives for a long time, guys wanted for murder, drug dealing, torture, and every other manner of violent crime. He'd been shot before, but never like this – never a sneak attack, never with a fellow agent collapsing, maybe dying, at his side.

"Agent Nogi called her sister before the paramedics arrived?" Koko asked.

Natsume pulled himself back to the matter at hand. "That's right."

"You dialed?"

"He had her number in memory. He wasn't in any condition to talk. I think he just wanted her to hear what happened from him."

"Then you talked to her?"

"That's right. Ruka couldn't hold on to the phone. I took it." Natsume related his brief conversation with a shocked, frightened Mikan Sakura. "I told her I'd call her back, but I haven't been able to. I'd need Ruka's cell phone. I don't have her number."

Koko wanted to know what Ruka said to his sister. Natsume never told him.

There were more questions. The guy wasn't leaving a stone unturned.

Natsume's head throbbed, and Special Agent Koko was getting on his nerve. Anyone would. He felt woozy from whatever crap Dr. Serina had pumped into him. A couple of Tylenol and directions to the exit would have suited him fine.

"They're half-siblings" Koko said, "Ruka and Mikan. You have sister, right? You call them?"

"Not yet, no. What the hell, Koko? You suspicious because Ruka called his sister? For God's sake, _she_ didn't shoot him."

Koko ignored him. "Okay, you rest. Doctors say they might spring you later on, let you sleep in your own bed tonight. That must sound pretty good right now."

"Just find the damn shooter. Never mind me."

"Yeah. We're on it. You're not going to get in the way, are you?"

Natsume said nothing.

"One last thing." Koko said. "What were you and Ruka talking about before you got hit?"

"Tulips."

The Agent manages a small grin before he left. Even the stone-faced female agent in the corner had a twitch of a smile.

Natsume had his bed cranked up to sitting position and was lying against the skinny pillow, his shoes still on and his ankles crossed, when his family descended.

Persona, Aoi and her husband, Youichi Hijiri.

Koko had left almost an hour ago before. Since then, Natsume had refuse all company and stared at the ceiling, seeing Ruka's body jerking up as the bullet hit, hearing hi sister's shocked frightened voice when Natsume talked to her. He saw the blood on the phone. He heard his own calm voice, as if he wasn't really there, in the middle of chaos, shot, trying to save his colleague, trying to find the shooter. So much happening at once, but certain things stuck with him, wouldn't recede.

He hadn't called her sister back. He couldn't – her number was on Ruka's phone.

Someone must have contacted her by now.

Half-siblings. Natsume couldn't remember Ruka saying much about her.

The image started to replay itself. Like a movie, but Natsume pulled himself out of it and sat up straighter. He tried to smile at his family. "I feel like Dorothy in _The Wizard of Oz._ All I need is Toto to show up. They let you all in here at once?"

His uncle grunted. "It's Aoi's fault she told your doctors you could handle all of us."

Natsume eyed his out-to-there pregnant sister, wearing what at a guess was one of her husband's shirts. "I can handle the stress, but can you, Aoi? You look like you're going to have the baby any second."

"Not for a few more weeks." Always the doctor, she picked up his chart and scanned it, sighing. "How's your arm?"

"Anesthetized. I can't feel a thing. Ruka Nogi's the one in rough shape."

She nodded. "So I understand."

Her husband spoke "A wound like that. Chances are he's either going to make a full recovery or he's going to die. There's not much in between."

Aoi winced "Youichi for God's sake – "

But Youichi wasn't the one to pussyfoot around. They'd all been friends since childhood, and Natsume appreciated his straightforward assessment. Aoi sigh and leaned over his bed, the stress of the past hours evidence in her drawn, pale look, in the crimson eyes of the siblings shared. "I'm glad you weren't killed," she whispered.

"Me , too."

Youichi slipped an arm around his wife and eyed Natsume. "Is there anything I can do?" Once a helicopter pilot now the youngest senator in Japan, Youichi like the rest of them, was used in taking action.

"Get me a shirt. I feel like an idiot in this gown."

Aoi hissed. "I knew you'd be impossible. Didn't I tell you, Uncle Rei?"

Their uncle stared at the window with its view of the streets. He was in jeans and a hiking jersey. He was one of the best outfitters in the White Mountains, content to stay home in Hokkaido and hike, cook, and redecorate the house he'd inherited from his older brother. But Persona had been shot at more than any of them. He'd served a year in combat in different places before coming home, only to end up raising his orphan niece and nephew.

He glance back at Natsume. "Why don't you drive home with me? The mountain air'll do you good."

Natsume shook his head. "The last time I was home, you served orange eggs."

"They are not that orange. You're just used to Tokyo eggs."

"I'm used to yellow eggs."

"It's what Nobara feeds them.

Nobara Ibagri. She was a newcomer to Hokkaido. People called her the Ice princess because she is isolated to other people not because she is a cold person she's just shy. She and Persona had been seeing each other for a couple of months. "Ibagri-san's really into chicken now, isn't she?"

Natsume started to feel sluggish and achy, some of his earlier adrenaline rush wearing off. Or maybe now that his family was there, he could allow himself a letdown.

"Who knew that there were that many different kinds of chickens?" Persona said. "I thought she might be one of your people, with fake name like Nobara Ibagri."

"What do you mean, one of my people?"

Persona shrugged. "You know, some lowlife you're protecting so they can testify against bigger lowlife you're not protecting."

He means WITSEC. The Witness Security Program. Persona's rendition of its mission of protecting government witnesses and their dependents was over simplified and biased, but Natsume was I no mood to argue. "Not all protected federal witnesses are criminals, and I'd be surprised if we ever gave one a name like Nobara Ibagri – "

"I know, I know."

Aoi touched their uncle's arm. "We should go."

Persona didn't budge, his black eyes pinned on his nephew. With ten –year age difference between them, Persona was in some ways like an older brother to Natsume, in other ways like a father. "I turned on CNN before the marshals called, and I knew it was you. I'm telling you. I just knew."

"I'm Sorry, Persona. It's my job – "

"It's not your job to get shot by some asshole in Central Park."

Aoi groaned. "Uncle Rei! Now's not the time," she shifted her attention to her older brother. "You'll do what your doctors say, won't you? And don't be stingy with pain medication. Take what you need."

"Hn. Got it."

She wasn't convinced. "You do not. You're itching to get out of this bed and go find who shot you."

"And you wouldn't be?"

She didn't answer. No one did, because his uncle and sister and the man she married were all cut from the same cloth when it came to waiting patiently for others to do what they wanted to do themselves. They simply didn't.

Natsume felt bad about what they'd been through today. He knew what it was like – he remembered how he'd reacted when he learned about the close calls his sister and brother-in-law had last fall. "Where are you guys staying tonight?"

No one wanted to answer that one either, but finally Youichi did. "Your place. I'm heading out tonight, but your uncle and Aoi are staying. Persona took lasagna out of the freezer and brought it down."

The thought of Persona's rich, uncompromising lasagna made Natsume nauseous. Spending the night in the hospital suddenly didn't look bad. Armed guards and medical types hovering over him – or his family.

When his nurse enter the room, his entourage retreated, but Natsume could hear them out in the hall. If his bandage arm hadn't forced the reality of his situation to sink in, their presence did.

He'd been shot.

He'd damn near been killed.

And Ruka Nogi – it could go either way with him.

After the nurse left, Natsume tried to get the deputy at his door to find who needed to see about checking himself out.

No dice.

He'd just have to wait.

* * *

What do you think? Is it a Lousy or a Good chapter?

Don't forget to Review so I'll know your opinion(s).

Have a Happy Easter Everyone :)

Lots of Love  
~Claire-chan :3


	7. Chapter 4

Early Update! I shouldn't be posting this chapter till Sunday but since it's already done and I want you to be happy I've decided to update now :) I Hope you enjoy it ;)

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Chapter 4

Hotaru Imai made herself dump the last of her crabstick in the trash bin near the fountain next to the elevator that had drop her of on Ruka and Natsume's floor. It was here seventh crabstick of the day, and she had acid burning on her throat. Not a good sign.

She ran the water to clean the drain but didn't take a sip. She didn't like drinking out of hospital fountains.

She didn't like anything about this whole damn day.

The chief agent had turned the care and feeding of Ruka Nogi's sister over to her, probably because they were both female. Any comparison ended there. Mikan Sakura was just about the prettiest woman Hotaru had ever actually met in person. Long honey brown – colored hair streaked with pale blond highlights, hazel eyes, slim built, elegant even in her jeans and dark gray silk twin set. She wore a delicate little ring on her finger. Hotaru still had a band-aid scum on her index finger after she accidentally cut herself while doing her inventions. She was taller by an inch, And her hair was raven and bob-cut.

_Chirst._

Ruka was dying, and she was thinking about her hair.

"Dr. Sakura." Faking calm professionalism, Hotaru pretended that her throat wasn't burning and motioned toward the waiting room recently vacated by the Hyuuga Family. "Let's go in there. It'll be quiet."

It seemed to take few seconds for her words to sink in, but Mikan Sakura nodded and mumbled something about calling her by her given name, then walked into the little room. Hotaru had already kicked out any law enforcement types. All the armed agents and marshal in the hallway were enough to agitate her, never mind the Ph.D. who'd just learned that her brother had seriously wounded in a sniper attack. A Tokyo hospital on a good day was hard to take. This was not a good day.

Hotaru had no idea what to say. None.

"Can I get you something?"She finally asked.

Mikan shook her head "When can I talk to Ruka's doctor?"

"Soon your brother's just out of surgery."

The hazel eyes were steady, but Hotaru could see fear in them and realized that Mikan couldn't speak.

"He's holding his own," Hotaru said, guessing Mikan's question. "I understand that the next twenty-four hours are critical."

Mikan took a moment to digest Hotaru's words, and then breathe in through her nose and nodded. "What about the agent who was with him? Natsume Hyuuga. How is he?"

"He's fine. Someone forgot to chain him to his bed, so he got out of here about an hour ago." It was seven now. Hotaru returned his weapon to him and, like everyone else, futilely told him to go home and take it easy. "The bullet hit him just grazed his upper arm. He was never in surgery."

"That's good," Mikan said absently. She remained on her feet – she was wearing sandals that nobe adequate for the miserable weather Tokyo was having. "I don't know much about guns. Shots like that – would they be difficult shots? Do you think the shooter meant to kill my brother and Hyuuga-san outright?"

"No answer yet. FBI's investigating."

"There must be witnesses. Central Park at mid-day – someone must have seen something. Are there places for a shooter to hide? How would he escape? If police arrived quikly - "

"Look , have a seat." The chief agent had warned Hotaru to keep Ruka's sister from dwelling on, dissecting, the shooting. It wasn't good for her. It wasn't good for any of them. "At least let me get you a cup of coffee."

"I don't drink coffee, but thank you. I'm okay. I just want to see my brother."

"I know, but it might not be tonight." He was in intensive care, on a respirator. Hotaru didn't want to be the one to tell Mikan Sakura that. "Let's just wait and you can talk to his doctor."

Mikan nodded, saying nothing and lowered her head, fiddling with her ring, as if to kep Hotaru from seeing that she was on the verge of tears.

_Hell._ Hotaru took in a steadying breath. Now her stomach was burning. She had no idea what to say to this woman. "Where are you staying?"

"I could stay at Ruka's. I haven't visited since I was assigned up here, but I could – I'm sure I could get the keys."

"That's not a good idea, not tonight the FBI could be going through his place for all I know, but you shouldn't stay there on your own. Forget about it, okay? Trust me. You can stay at my place, or I can book you into a hotel."

"That's very nice of you, Imai-san, right?"

"Hotaru'll do."

"Hotaru. That's a pretty name, means fireflies right?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "I think I should change it to more meaner sounding."

Mikan raised her eyes. "You and Ruka…" But she trailed off, not finishing.

Hotaru understood what she was trying to say. "We used to see each other."

"Not anymore?"

"No. Not any More."

The noise of the city – the crush people – struck Mikan as oddly reassuring as she and Hotaru Imai climbed the back of the black government car that driven them to Grandbell Hotel in the heart of Shibuya. It wasn't that far from the hospital, but Ruka's bosses didn't want her walking. They'd made that clear. They didn't say it was because a sniper was on the loose in the city and they were afraid Hotaru or even Mikan might be his next target – they said it was because Mikan was obviously exhausted and, emotionally wrung out and on edge.

But they were all tired and on edge, she thought. A steady stream of law enforcement and political types had stopped at the hospital to check on Ruka and Natsume and to greet her, to offer to do whatever they could for her. She'd sensed not only their concern for the injured agents, but their worry about the situation itself. The chief agent , the district Alice Agents, the FBI agent leading the investigation , The FBI assistant director in charge of the Tokyo FBI office, the mayor – they'd all attended the news conference that had preceded the shooting. The shooter could have been after one of them instead and seize Ruka and Natsume as second choice, targets of opportunity – get someone anyone, who'd been in the news conference.

The bottom line was clear. Two federal agents had been gunned down in daylight in Central Park, and the gunman was still at large.

"I'll check you in," Hotaru said, briskly leading the way up the elevators to the eight-floor lobby of the huge conference hotel.

She'd insisted on carrying Mikan's bag. Saying it was part of the job. Mikan wanted to ask about Hotaru's relationship with her brother, who'd only mentioned in one e-mail the he'd seeing another agent and it hadn't worked out – Hotaru had her cut off that topic.

When they arrived at the lobby, Mikan waited off to the side while Hotaru checked her in. She'd never seriously consider imposing on her agent escort – she liked the anonymity of the large hotel. She neede time for herself. Space. Ruka's doctors were guarded but not discouraging in their assessment of her brother's condition. He'd lost a lot of blood but the surgery had gone well. The bullet could have done more damage than it had, although the damage _had_ done was considerable. They'd watch him closely for complications from blood loss, a recurrence of bleeding, infection – he had a long way to go.

Without her having to plead, his doctors had allowed her peek on him.

He was intubated and attached to a ventilator, hooked up to myriad of the IVs and tubes and unconscious. But he was alive, and that was what Mikan had tried to focus on as she touched him gently on the forehead and told him she was there and would see him in the morning. She hoped that on some subconscious level he could hear her, knew she was rooting for him and he wasn't alone.

But when she left the I.C.U., she burst into tears and almost threw up. Hotaru Imai had hesitated, obviously awkward and unsure of what to do, but the chief deputy – Kazumi Yukihara, a stocky rock of a man – stepped forward and maneuvered Mikan into the waiting room.

That was when they all decided she shouldn't walk alone to her hotel.

Hotaru turned from the front desk with a small key folder. "Tenth floor okay?"

"Anything's fine."

"Elevators are over here."

When they reached her room, Hotaru used the card key and pushed open the door, then checked out the place, even pulling open the closet and drawers. Mikan caught a glimpse of her weapon, reminder that her escort was a federal agents on duty. She wasn't just being kind.

"Place looks clean and safe enough." Hotaru turned from the closet an frowned at Mikan. "You look beat. Take a bath and get some sleep. If there's any news, someone will call you. Promise."

Mikan sank onto the bed. Her room was clean and pleasant, a large window overlooking Shibuya with its huge, flashing billboards. She was struck by the disconnect between her and her family home in Northern Woods. Not that long ago, she'd been listening to a mocking bird and drinking tea punch.

She doubted she'd sleep, never mind the flashing billboards and siens down on the busy road of Tokyo street.

A cell phone trilled, but it took a moment for Mikan to realize it was hers. She fished it from an outer pocket of her tote bag.

"Mikan – Mikan, honey, it's Narumi."

Fresh tears welled in Mikan's at the sound of Narumi L. Anju's familiar, caring voice. "Narumi – I'm so glad you called. It's been an awful day."

"I know, Honey. I heard about Ruka. I am so, so sorry."

"I saw him for a few seconds. He made it out of surgery. That's a good sign."

Hotaru turned from the window, not hiding that she was listening. Mikan knew she couldn't possibly explain that she was talking to the Prime Minister of the country. Alice Agent Hotaru Imai's ultimate boss. Ruka's boss. But to her, he was a friend, a neighbor, a man she'd known and adored all her life.

"Luna and I are thinking of you, praying for both you and Ruka," Narumi said. "If there's anything we can do, please just say the word."

"Thank you, Thank you for calling. Just knowing you're thinking of him makes a difference. He's – it's tough, Narumi. He's on a respirator – the bandages-"

Her voice faltered. "But I keep telling myself that at least he's alive. He has a chance."

"He's strong, and so re you." But beneath his soothing words, she heard the undertone of concern and fear, because for all his brilliance and compassion, Narumi Anju did't know if Ruka would live, either. "Where are you now?"

"A hotel in Tokyo."

"Alone?"

"I have an agent escort. Narumi, don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"What about your parents?"

"They're waiting until morning their time before they decided what to do."

"God love them. This has to be a parent's worst nightmare."

Narumi and Luna had no children.  
That it was a political liability was something Mikan had found distasteful. Luna had, had four miscarriages and stillbirths before and emergency hysterectomy put an end to all hopes of giving birth. Mikan remembered how distraught Narumi was after that fourth and last loss. He'd come to Northern Woods alone, so his wife wouldn't see him mourn, so he could be strong for her when they were together. But even before that terrible day, Mikn had become something of surrogate daughter to them. In some ways, they'd been more reliable and solid – more available – than her own parents.

"Mikan…the media…" Narumi hesitated, a rarity for him. "They'll zero in on my relationship with your family at some point. Right now, there's no indication that Ruka was targeted because of it."

Mikan nearly dropped the phone.

Hotaru Imai took a step towards her, her expression tight alert.

"Narumi!" Mikan choked, gripping the phone. "My God, that never even occurred to me!"

"I'm mentioning it only because it could come up as a theory, and I don't want you to be blindsided." The strain in his voice, famous for its ability to soothe yet sound commanding, was evident. "Honey, you just focus on being there for Ruka. I'll worry about the rest of it."

"Thank you." She didn't know what else to say.

"Luna sends her love."

"I love you both. Thank you for calling."

After Mikan hung up, Hotaru pulled the drapes. "Do you mind if I ask who that was?" she asked.

Mikan's heart thumped painfully in her chest. Her eyes felt squeezed. In Scotland, for weeks – for most of Narumi Anju's first month in office – she hadn't had to deal with reality that her closet and oldest family friend had been elected prime minister of Japan.

"Mikan?"

"Narumi. Narumi Anju. He and my father go way back. My mother – step mother- went to college with him. She almost married him." Mikan winced, wondering why she'd brought that up. "Supposedly. You never know with my family."

"Jesus Christ," Hotaru said under her breath, then snapped up straight, looking every inch the federal agent she was. "All right, No goddamn way am I leaving you to your own devices tonight. Either we switch to a double room and camp out with you, or you take my futon at my place."

"Would I be sleeping with your inventions?"

Hotaru managed a crooked smile. "You'll see."

Since she'd be sleeping in the strange bed no matter what she did, Mikan rose and grabbed her suitcase. She'd had no intention of making Hotaru spend the night in a hotel after the day they'd both had – and there was no way Mikan was going to talk Agent Imai into leaving her alone.

"Ruka never mentioned we were friends with minister Anju?"

"No."

"He didn't want to affect him on the job -"

"We weren't always on job." Hotaru bit off a sigh. "We worked out okay before he was transferred to Tokyo. I knew your family was white bread, but -" She tore open the door, grinding her teeth."You didn't happen to mention your friendship with the minister to the FBI, did you? Yome? He talked to you right?"

"He asked me about the phone call from Ruka but the minister didn't come up."

"Trust me," agent Imai said, walking out into the hall, "it will."

* * *

What can you say?

Pls. Review so I'll know your opinion(s)..

* * *

I would like to Thank:

*A-chan  
*AnimeMango  
*GabsterelA  
*adrienna22  
*mybeyondinfinity

For the reviews that you leave in Night's Landing Chapters 2 & 3:)

and;

*Enilezah  
*cherryblossomxcrimsonflames  
*gabsterela  
*sky dreamer97  
*riaanaa  
*decentkat  
*Roxii Like A Puma  
*NiaTheAnimeFreak

for Following Night's Landing :)

* * *

IloveYouGuys  
XOXO

~Claire-chan143


	8. Chapter 5

Here's Chapter 5 Hope You Enjoy It :)

* * *

Tsubasa switched off CNN and listened to the crickets out in the dark. He had the windows in his cottage open. The breeze had died down, making the crickets even more noticeable. He almost turned the television on, but he didn't think he could take one more idiot talking about the possible firearm the sniper could have used. What the hell difference did it make? Two federal agents were in the hospital. Go find the fucker.

He put his feet up on the old flat-topped trunk set up as coffee table, its wood varnished to high gloss, probably hurting its value as an antique. The Sakuras didn't seem to think the terms of antiques. A different sort of family, for sure. Eccentrics. Tsubasa's parents were ranchers in Osaka. Hard working, well-respected. They had no idea what their son was up to.

Misaki's father was a widower, career military, who pretty much thought Tsubasa had killed her.

He wasn't that far off.

FOX News had done a diagram of the kind of wound Ruka Nogi might have suffered in his left upper abdomen. Explained how he could live without a spleen. About the risk of blood loss, the strain it put on the kidneys. Luckily, he'd gotten medical attention within the "golden Hour."

Misaki hadn't

Because Tsubasa hadn't been there.

He hadn't been there a lot during their two-year marriage.

He jumped to his feet and tore open small refrigerator, grabbed a glass container of leftover barbeque and popped it into the microwave. It was an ancient microwave. It must have been one of the first ones off the assembly line. The Sakuras weren't into gadgets.

He got out dill pickle slice and found a dried-up sesame-seed bun in the bread box. He softened it up in the microwave and put the whole mess together ans ate it leaning against the sink. Wondering what in hell he thought of he was doing. Northern Woods. The Sakuras. Prime Minister Anju's boyhood home just up river. Tsubasa knew better than to turn into some kind of nutball loose cannon, but here he was.

He'd read Mikan Sakura's dissertation on the Anju house and how the Anju family fit into the post Civil War. Thought he'd go blind. She'd just finish producing and directing a documentary. There was talk of her becoming the director of the Anju House and working to open it to the public as a historic site. Now that he'd meet her, Tsubasa couldn't see Mikan spending her time figuring out where the visitors' center should go, doing fundraising, training docent – she needed a new project.

Tsubasa had taken his own private, illicit, midnight tour of the Anju's house down river from the Sakuras. It hadn't produced a single thing except a spider bite on his ankle. His search of the Sakura house hadn't produced much more. He'd gone through file cabinets, photo albums, and old yearbooks. The father had written plenty boring papers of his own. The mother was into art.

He'd found Mikan's locked diary from when she was fifteen but decided he wasn't low enough to break into it and read it.

But he might yet. He was _that_ goddamn frustrated. He wasn't sure what he expected to find in Kyoto. A connection, a hint, a link. Something that explained Misaki's interest in the Sakuras. Why she'd contacted Yuka Sakura in Paris two days before she was killed. What it had to do with her death.

She'd gone to Paris herself. On holiday, she'd told her friends and superiors, Euro-style. Tsubasa had shown up at her base in Germany without notice, found her gone, figured out where she was and headed to Paris to join her. He could track down anyone, so he'd tracked down his ambitious, incredible wife.

He hadn't considered the importance of her trip until she turned up dead. Then he wanted to know everything. Why Paris? What had Misaki been up to?

Weeks of probing, spying and prowling in Europe had landed him on the Cumberland River in the middle of Kyoto, playing gardener.

Waiting like a damn fool for answers to fall into his lap.

Ten days ago, he'd bought a ticket back to Paris.

But he hadn't used it yet. Because Mikan Sakura had returned from Scotland. And now her brother had been shot in the Central Park.

Suddenly Tsubasa realize the crickets had stopped chirping.

He set his plate in the sink and went still, listening aware of the .38 semiautomatic strapped to his ankle under his overalls.

"Mr. Ando? It's me, Reo Mouri." The voice amiable, familiar. "Would you mind if I had a word with you?"

Tsubasa stifled a groan. Just what he needed, a bottom-feeding reporter who liked to pass himself off as legitimate journalist-historian. Before he could respond, Reo was at the door. He was working on unauthorized, tabloid style biography of Prime Minister. He'd set up shop a couple of weeks ago at the cabin he'd rented at a fishing camp farther up river The Anju House. He was working his way to Mikan's good grace, presumably in trying to get access to the president and dig up any dirt he could find – not she was anyone's fool. As far as Tsubasa had seen, so far she hadn't told Mouri much more than what kind of mint extract she used in her sweet tea punch.

He and Tsubasa were about the same age. But Reo Mouri seemed like a throwback to another generation, pre-World War II, maybe even pre-World War I. He was unfailingly polite and tended to dress in a penny loafers, chinos, polo shirt and Rolex watch.

He opened up the screen door, then remembered his good ol' boy act. "What can I do for you, Mr. Mouri?"

"I'm sorry to bother you this late. I've been working all day on my new book. I didn't have the radio on. I just heard the news-"

"Yes, sir it's an awful situation."

Reo shook his head in obvious despair. He had a broad forehead, a strong jaw – not bad-looking guy. "It's _terrible_. Mikan's gone to Tokyo?"

"She left a short time after she heard about the shooting."

Reo took in a breath. "Good Heavens. I simply can't imagine. The FBI just held a press conference it was carried by all news channels. Ruka Nogi or should I say Sakura's still in critical condition, but at least he's stable. He made it out of surgery. Mikan must be beside herself."

Tsubasa noted the familiar way Mouri talked about Mikan and wondered if they'd stuck up a real friendship since she'd arrived back to Northern Woods. He turned on the tap at the sink and rinsed off his barbeque plate. "She was pretty upset when she left here, Mr. Mouri."

"Understandably. Do you know anything? Anything that's not on the news? Are the parents flying in from Paris? Will Ruka be brought down here to recuperate-"

"If I knew anything," Tsubasa said, turning from the sink. "I don't believe I'd tell you. No offense, sir but you're a reporter. It's not my job to blab family business to reports."

Reo's back stiffened visibly, but he smiled. "No offense taken, but you're quite wrong about me. If I were the kind of reporter you obviously think I am, I'd be on the phone to CNN right now alerting them to Ruka Nogi's connection to the Prime Minister. But I haven't done that."

"No money in it?"

"Name recognition. That would help me with my book when it goes to press." He sighed his shoulder sagging . "I've never been good at selling my-self. My interest is always the story. This book – I'm doing a responsible job on it. I want to be respectable. The most difficult part…" He trailed off, avoiding Tsubasa's eyes. "Mikan. I didin't expect-" He seemed unable to go on.

"You didn't expect to want her approval," Tsubasa finished for him, then added, matter-of-fact, "She's a beautiful woman."

Reo still didn't look at him. He nodded, embarrassed. "That's right. I want to do my best work on this book. I'd like her respect. I've read her dissertation, and I understand the documentary she just finished is stunning. I can't compete with that kind of scholarship. Of course, her work doesn't focus on the minister. What I'm doing is quite different."

The guy sounded smitten. Tsubasa got it, but Mikan Sakura was sister like material as far as he concered. "Look, Mr. Mouri," he said, "you don't have to justify yourself to me. What you do is none of my business. I'll tell Mikan you dropped by and let you know if I hear anything. Fair enough?"

Reo seemed to be pleased, even relieved. "Thank you. It's a worrisome situation, isn't it?"

"Sure is, sir."

"Mikan… I wonder how long she'll be up there. If she needs anything-"

"I'll tell her you offered,"

After Reo left, Tsubasa got a beer out of the refrigerator and walked down to the dock. It was dark out, not much for moon and stars. Chilly. He could fly up to Tokyo. Ask questions, stick his nose where it didn't belong.

Get arrested.

Bad enough having Reo Mouri, would-be Ministerial biographer, sniffing around Northern Woods. In Tokyo, Tsubasa'd be facing scores of hardnosed, cynical reporters who had space and time to fill whatever they could fill it with, all of them eager for anything that would spin the Central Park sniper story into a new direction for another day or two of audience-grabbing coverage.

He should have used an alias. Never mind Mouri and a bunch of national and Tokyo reporters – if the FBI and Alice fed his name into a computer, God only knows what'd pop out.

"Yeah, well." Tsubasa said into the night. "Whatever."

He finished his beer and went back inside.

* * *

Like it?  
Review so I'll know your opinion(s)

* * *

Sneak peak of the next chapter:

_Mikan stepped backward toward the exit and stumbled on someone's feet. Before she could fall flat on her face, a firm hand caught her by the elbow, steadying her._

_"Whoa, there. Easy."_

_She spun around, straight into Natsume Hyuuga, the agent who'd been shot with her brother. She recognize him from the photo they'd shown on TV. He was tall, lean, his raven hair softened, and he had, Mikan thought, the most alluring, incisive and rarest eyes she'd ever seen. Crimson. He wore black jeans, a black T-shirt under a dark plaid flannel shirt and sneakers._

_The crimson eyes settled on her. "Mikan Sakura, right?"_

* * *

Till Next time ;)  
~claire-chan143


	9. Chapter 6

Here's chapter 6... Please enjoy..

* * *

Natsume woke up irritable and in pain, even before he remembered that his uncle and sister were in the next room. He bought a penthouse apartment from one of his college friend he'd met when he came to Tokyo. Persona had invited him up for lasagna until Aoi intervened and reminded him that Natsume had just been shot.

Shot.

Right. He pulled on clothes and popped a couple of Extra Strength Tylenol. No bleed-through on his bandages. Had to be a good sign.

Persona was making omelets from eggs he'd brought down from Hokkaido in a cooler. "Look at them," Natsume said. "They're orange."

"They're not that orange."

They were that orange. They turned his stomach. His uncle sighed at Natsume's obvious lack of enthusiasm. "Okay, so eat toast."

Natsume sat at the kitchen table. "I'm sorry. I'm not in a great mood."

"Relax." Persona lowered the heat under the frying pan. "You've been griping about my cooking since you were a little tyke. How's the arm this morning?"

"Aches."

Aoi lumbered into the kitchen, rubbing her huge belly. She smiled. "Baby's tap-dancing. How're you doing, onii-chan?" She checked his bandage and made him check his tempered, then warned him, not for the first time, to take his pain medication.

"Just do it."

Aoi sat across from Natsume, frowning at him. "You're going to take a bath or something, right?"

"What do I smell?"

"You just look like a death warmed over."

He loved his family. He really did. But he preferred being frank with them versus having them be frank with him, and he was rattled and raw from yesterday's trauma. Dr. Serina had given him the number of a psychiatrist. The Alice had people he could talk to.

He didn't want to talk to anyone. He just wanted the son of a bitch who'd shot him and Ruka off the streets. In a perfect world, Natsume, would nailed his ass.

Persona flipped an orange omelet onto a plate and set it in front of Aoi, who dug right in.

Natsume excused himself and beeline for the bathroom in time for a couple of dry heaves over the john. When he returned to his family, Persona and his sister were cleaning up the kitchen and packing. "You need your space." Aoi said. "You always have. But if there's anything we can do, you know where to find us."

"Guys- "

"Give yourself a time," Persona said. "Don't fight it. You're going to have the yips for a few weeks. It's normal."

Aoi, looking tired and strained, smiled. "By 'yips' he means post-trauma stress symptoms. Nightmares, jumpiness, irritability. They're the body's way of processing traumatic event. You can also do rapid-eye-movement desensitization and reprogramming therapy-" She stopped herself. "I'm sure your doctor's discussed your options with you."

Natsume got through breakfast and afterward almost told them not to leave. But he didn't, and once they were out the door, he headed to the hospital to check in on Ruka.

* * *

He found Hotaru Imai slumped in a straight backed plastic chair in the private waiting room outside the I.C.U. where they had Ruka. It was barely nine o'clock in the morning, but her eyes were closed. "Sleeping on the job," Natsume said.

She didn't open her eyes, "Go to hell."

"Hey. I was shot yesterday. Be nice." He also out ranked her, but wouldn't care. "How's the sister?"

Now Hotaru opened her eyes and sat up straight, frowning. "She's buds with the prime minister, that's how the sister is."

Natsume let her words register. "Anju?"

"He grew up next to the Sakuras in Kyoto. Mikan's like a daughter to him and Ruka's a pal, too. Did you know?"

"Ruka never mentioned he'd even met the minister. Did you tell Yome?

"Oh, yeah. Big time. He's Mr. Cool. Just said, 'Thank you.'" She did a perfect imitation of the FBI investigator. "He might have known already, but I wasn't taking any chances."

"Smart move."

"Bet he's got the Secret Service hanging on his shoulder, not that we'll ever know. If the shooter targeted Ruka specifically because of his friendship with the minister-" She broke off, no further comment necessary. "Mikan wanted me to leave her to her own device last night, but I gave her choice of me in her hotel room with her or her on the futon at my place."

Natsume give a wry smile. He'd known Hotaru since she'd stared with the Alice Agency four years ago. She was tough and ambitious. "You warned her about the inventions?"

"I did. She was fine with them. Me – I didn't sleep a wink. I kept picturing assassins bursting through the window and shooting us both dead."

"You'd have shot them before they shot you."

"What if someone wants to upset the minister by -"

"Don't go there."

Hotaru clamped her mouth shut. She was twenty four and good at her job, but she'd say anything – nothing intimidating her. Sometimes it scared senior agents like Natsume, but she'd been an asset since her arrival in Tokyo eight months ago. She'd kept her relationship with Ruka quiet. Then he ended up in Tokyo, but the two of them working out of the same office had apparently killed their relationship.

Natsume poured himself a cup of coffee that smelled as if it'd been made hours ago. He added powdered creamer but didn't stir. He took a sip before the creamer melted, the little fake milk lumps making the brew even nastier that it might have been.

He eyed Hotaru. She had outdoorsy good looks and direct manner that sometimes took people by surprise. She could be irritating as hell, but she'd earned Natsume's respect. "I take it Ruka never told you he and Anjo were friends, either."

"It didn't come up." She stretched her arms above her head, yawning. "Knowing Ruka, he wouldn't want it to become a 'thing,' to get in the way of his work, make other people feel self-conscious maybe that also explains why he use his father surname instead of using his step-father's. I also gather that the sister's closer to the president than Ruka is."

"Makes for a hell of a fly in the ointment. What's the word on Ruka this morning?"

"He's doing better. They've got him off the respirator. What about you? Should you even be here?"

The Tylenol had kicked in, but Natsume still could feel the ache. He didn't want his brain fuzzed up with prescription pain killers. He swallowed more of the lousy coffee. "I won't be doing push-ups for a couple weeks, but otherwise I'm fine."

"What about your head?"

Natsume set his cup on the edge of the coffee station. He couldn't drink another sip. "I didn't get shot in the head."

Hotaru scowled. "You know what I mean. Everyone says you should go home to Hokkaido, at least for a few days. Why don't you?"

He didn't answer. Persona and his sister had asked him the same question, and he hadn't answered them. He wasn't that close to Hotaru Imai.

But, of course she had no instinct for when she was pushing up against her boundaries. "Christ, you are a case aren't you?" She got up and pured herself a cup of coffee, taking it black. "I hope you don't plan to go into the office today and star pissing people off."

"Hotaru –"

"Someone's going to tie you up and toss you into a truck, drive you to Hokkaido." She took a big gulp of coffee, no sign she thought it was old and near rancid. "It's hard to stand on the sidelines. Can't be easy seeing the FBI working the case."

"It's their job to investigate the shooting of two federal agents – "

"So? Doesn't mean you have to like it."

He remind himself that she'd had a shock yesterday herself – arriving on the scene in time to see the paramedics working on her ex-boyfriend. Ruka was still in rough shape. Natsume figure he could cut her some slack.

She grinned feebly at him. "I'm over stepping, huh? At least you can go home and climb mountains. I'm stuck here baby-sitting Ruka's step-sister. She's – oh, shit." Hotaru groaned, nearly spilling her coffee.

"Damn. Now I've done it."

Natsume glanced behind him and saw a pretty brunette in slim jeans and black sweater turn about-face and retreat down the hall.

"Mikan Sakura?" He shook his head. "Good one, Imai."

"_Crap ._At least Ruka and I ended it on a positive note or this'd be even worse."She set her coffee on the small refreshment cart. "Mikan's really nice. Why don't you come meet her?"

"You dug your hole. I'm not going to help you dig yourself out of it."

She snorted at him. "I could tell you what people say about you behind your back, you know."

As if he didn't know. As if he cared. Natsume grinned at her, but she squared her shoulders and headed out into the hall. He had the feeling she'd rather face the sniper who'd shot at him and Ruka rather than have to make amends to Ruka's offended Step-sister.

* * *

The armed deputies securing all access to her brother – medical, professional and personal – underscored for Mikan the gravity of his situation and the cold fact that the shooter was still at large.

The agents let her pass without explanation of why she'd returned so soom. She'd just left the private corner of the I.C.U. where Ruka lay with his tubes and monitors, asleep. She thought she'd step into the waiting room and collect herself before her next visit.

Now she wished she hadn't. Hotaru's words, which she obviously hadn't meant for Mikan to hear, had stung.

Ruka stirred when she approached him, as if sensing her presence and any though of her embarrassment receded. "Hey, kid," he said without opening his eyes, his voice hoarse from the respirator. "How ya doing?"

It was the first time he'd manage to speak to her. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Ruka – oh, God, Ruka, you've been through absolute hell, haven't you? But the doctors say you're doing well."

"Yeah." He moved his fingers, and she took his hand, his skin moist and pale. His eyes fluttered open- they were bloodshot, glassy looking – but the effort was too much and he shut them again. "Mikan, listen to me…"

"Sure Ruka. What can I do for you?"

"You're on vacation." He coughed, and she noticed spots of some kind of brownish ointment on his gown, the fresh bandage on his abdomen. He was weak, heavily medicated, exhausted. His attempt to talk – to make sense – had to be struggle. "I don't want you here if I've got someone shooting at me."

It wasn't what she'd expected to hear. "Just relax, okay? It'll be all right."

"If this guy sees you…"

"Nobody's going to see me." She tried to sound cheerful, but his fear was palpable, unnerving. "Ruka, please don't worry – just concentrate on getting better."

His eyes still closed, he mustered his energy and squeezed her hand. His hair was matted, dirty. "You're too trusting."

She wanted to reassure him, but she had no intention of going back to Kyoto, not until he was more himself. "I'll go home. Of course I will. I can't wait to go home. _After _I know you're better."

"What time is it?"

"It's a little after nine in the morning. You were injured yesterday around lunch time."

"Tonight. You can catch a flight back to Kyoto tonight. Promise me."

She didn't know if he was entirely lucid or if the trauma of his injury, the life saving surgery and the medications he was on were making him a little crazy. Paranoid. She had a friend whose father, suffering complications after heart surgery, kept insisting he saw waiter in tuxedos delivering him pheasant under glass in the I.C.U.

Or was her brother simply projecting his own fears onto her? I she were drinking tea on the front porch at home in Northern Woods, he'd feel safer.

"I don't…" His voice was barely rasping whisper now. "I don't remember anything."

He looked vulnerable so out of his element. Mikan could picture him yesterday in Central Park – strong vital, a professional but also a man with a sense of fun. Why would someone shoot him? _Who _would do something like that? She'd laid awake much of the night on the futon in Hotaru Imai's surrounded by her inventions as the question repeated themselves. And over and over, until she finally gave up on sleeping at all, she kept hearing Ruka on the phone, telling her he'd been shot.

She found herself having to choke back tears. "I'll let you sleep. I'll see you soon."

But her brother had already drifted off.

Brushing her tears off her cheeks with her fingertips. Mikan stepped backward toward the exit and stumbled on someone's feet. Before she could fall flat on her face, a firm hand caught her by the elbow, steadying her.

"Whoa, there. Easy."

She spun around, straight into Natsume Hyuuga, the agent who'd been shot with her brother. She recognize him from the photo they'd shown on TV. He was tall, lean, his raven hair softened, and he had, Mikan thought, the most alluring, incisive and rarest eyes she'd ever seen. Crimson. He wore black jeans, a black T-shirt under a dark plaid flannel shirt and sneakers.

The crimson eyes settled on her. "Mikan Sakura, right?"

She nodded. "Agent Hyuuga – I hope I didn't hurt your arm."

She realize she was about to cry. She'd held her tears in check since the agent had arrived in Northern Woods yesterday, but now, with her brother lying a few feet away from her, hurting, begging her to go home, with the lingering of Hotaru's words, she couldn't hold back. "I should go."

Natsume Hyuuga didn't say a word, didn't try to stop her as she pushed past him and ran out of the I.C.U. into the hall, sobbing, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't stop herself, couldn't bring herself under control. She _hated_ crying in front of anyone.

Hotaru shot out of the waiting room. "Mikan – wait."

Mikan broke into a run, charging past startled law enforcement officers. She squeezed by doctors and nurse getting off and onto an elevator and pushed her way to the back wall, sinking against it, bracing her knees as focused on her breathing in an attempt to calm herself.

Natsume Hyuuga had been _shot _yesterday, and he was a rock. Steady, unemotional.

She had no business falling apart.

_"You're too trusting."_

Maybe. Maybe she shouldn't have told the truth about who'd called last night. Maybe she shouldn't have let Hotaru Imai insist on moving her out of the hotel.

Maybe she shouldn't trust her brother's colleagues to have her best interest at heart.

They were all in shock themselves. They wanted to find the sniper, not be burdened with a wounded deputy's archaeologist sister.

She had to get a grip.

Had Hyuuga over heard her brother urging her to go home? Would he take it as his duty to put her on a plane back to Kyoto?

She didn't like the idea of being a nuisance, having these people think they were responsible for her. Before her flight to Tokyo, her agent escort had offered to arrange for a counselor to be with her, but she'd turned them down. Maybe if her brother had been killed.

But he was alive. He'd be all right. She'd been so determined not to tempt fate by agreeing prematurely to counseling. She just had an ordeal to get through.

She hadn't expected, though, that Ruka wouldn't want her in here.

The elevator door shut. An elderly doctor frowned at her in concern. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

She nodded and brushed her tears away, relieved to be getting off Ruka's floor, away from the able-bodied agents. She needed something to eat, a break. She didn't want tofeel sorry for herself. She wasn't the one lying in the I.C.U. And what kind of compassion did she expected from bunch of federal law enforcement officers? They wre doing the best they could.

The elevator doors opened again, suddenly, and Hotaru Imai stepped in. She put up a hand to Mikan, stopping her before she could started. "I was a bitch I'm sorry. What I said in the waiting room – it was stupid."

The older doctor moved to front of the elevator car, letting Hotaru take his spot. Mikan felt immediate urge to ease some Hotaru's obvious guilt. "It's a difficult time for everyone."

But Hotaru refused to cut herself any slack. "For _you_. You're Ruka's sister. I'm a colleague." She didn't mention their past relationship. "I was just trying to look tough in front of Natsume. I'm sorry I mouthed off at your expense."

"No harm done."

"Sure there was. You must have felt like the kid sister at the big kids' party." She smiled crookedly. "I'd say belt me one, but you'd probably have a half dozen agents jump on me on the elevator and pin you against the wall in two seconds flat. We're all in rotten moods. But, hey, you see some of those guys? Very buff."

Mikan fought a smile of her own, her first, she thought in many hours. "Natsume Hyuuga – I just met him."

"Yeah, I can tell. Most people run when they meet him. You're not the first. He's a total hard-ass."

"You're very irreverent, aren't you?"

Hotaru smiled, relaxing some. "Helps in dealing with things like two agents getting shot in Central Park. At least the news on Ruka is positive. Barring complications, he should be back on the streets before too long."

Mikan tried to let Hotaru's optimism sink into her psyche, tried to visualize Ruka back on his feet, with the lazy grin of his, that way he had of making people think he was a hundred percent on their side. "What about Hyuuga-san?" she asked. "How's he doing?"

"He'd like to get his hands around the neck of whoever shot him."

"But physically?"

"Just enough wound to piss him off."

The medical personnel all got off at the cafeteria floor, leaving Mikan and Hotaru alone in the elevator.

"I keep picturing the two of them leaving the news conference yesterday and walking into the park," Mikan said. "Why did they do that? Do you know?"

"No. I don't"

"The news conference – did a lot of people know about it in advance?"

"The world. That was the whole idea. It wasn't thrown together at the last second." Hotaru frowned at her, and then smiled gently. "Now, come on don't you star. The best investigators in the country are on this thing. In fact, Kokoro Yome called me while you were in with your brother. He wants to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Are you kidding? After the bombshell you dropped?"

Mikan winced. "Narumi was calling as a friend -"

"Exactly."

"I almost wish I'd told you it was another Narumi on the line."

"Nah. It's better this way. Get it out in the open. Your relationship with the president isn't something you'd want Yome stumbling over on his own. He's in private meeting room down the hall from your brother. He'll have food. Yome _always_ has food." Hotaru pushe the button for Ruka's floor and sighed. "And you look as if you could use something to eat."

Neither of them had been in the mood to eat that morning at Hotaru's penthouse.

"Alright," Mikan said. "I'll talk to Agent Yome. Then, please, go back to your normal duties. I can book a room at the hotel where we were last night. Tell your boss it's what I want."

"You just don't like my inventions."

Hotaru hadn't exaggerated – her penthouse was out of this world it was full of modern technology stuff and etc. She can almost see what will the 21th century houses would look like. Mikan shook her head. "Your penthouse's great, and I like it. I'm just used to being on my own."

"Now I understand."

She sank back against the cool wall of the elevator and closed her eyes. _"I don't want you here if I've got someone shooting at me."_

But how could she go home? She imagined herself on her front porch, drinking her sweet tea punch and feeling the soft breeze as if nothing had happened.

Given her family's predilection for not leading quiet lives, she'd been prepared for anything when she returned to Northern Woods – but not this, she thought. Not her brother getting shot in the Central Park. Not the possibility that he could become another Sakura who died an early, tragic death.

She stopped her negative thinking in its tracks.

_Stay positive._

The elevator opened on Ruka's floor. "Come on," Hotaru said. "Let's go see Special Agent Yome and talk to him about your Northern Wood neighbor."

* * *

Natsume didn't follow Ruka's sister, but he was tempted – and duty and chivalry had nothing to do with it. The feel of her slim waist when he'd grabbed, the honey-brown locks, the hazel eyes, the tears.

_Damn._

He stood next to Ruka's bed. "Your sister's prettier than you are."

He was awake, but not by much. "Smarter, too. What time is it?"

"About nine in the morning the day after the shooting." Which Mikan had already told him before she'd stepped on Natsume and ran off crying, "I don't remember."

The doctors had warned Natsume that Ruka might never remember the shooting. His body had poured all its energy into keeping him alive, not in remembering what had happened. "That's normal. How're you feeling?"

"Like shit."

"The nurses are going to get you up today if they can. They like to do that."

He wasn't paying attention. "Mikan should go back home." He coughed, shuddering in agony, his voice weaker, raspier, when he resumed. "She doesn't belong here."

His concern for his sister was palpable. "She's with Hotaru right now." Natsume assumed that she would be trying to make amends for her ill-advised remark. Just because you were shot doesn't mean she's in any danger."

"It wasn't random. The shooting. I was the target. He was after me."

"Ruka –."

"I know it. I have…this certainty." He shut his eyes, and he seemed to sink deeper into the bed. "I'm sorry."

"Get some rest. Don't worry about anything."

Ruka was done for. His mouth opened slightly as he fell back to sleep. He looked dead lying there in the bed. Natsume checked the monitors, just to be sure. He glanced at the stone faced guard, felt the dull ache in his arm where he'd been shot. He could have been the one shot in the gut.

But he wasn't. Ruka, just four months in Tokyo was.

Natsume had stifle a wave of guilt and regret – he should heve prevented this. Somehow, some way. He should have kept his and Ruka's presence at the news conference quiet. They shouldn't have gone at all. He should have seen something in the park, sensed it, and known they were danger.

Dead-end thinking.

Better to concentrate on his anger. It was sharp, focused, explosive, not a slow burn, not simmering kind of fury – and yet there wasn't a damn thing he could do with it, except go home to Hokkaido and climb mountains and eat Persona's orange eggs.

He thought instead he'd check on the hazel-eyed sister and see if she'd forgiven Imai for being such an ass.

* * *

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~Claire-chan143


	10. Chapter 7

**Warning:** Not NxM chapter..  
Hope you still like it :)

* * *

Yuka Sakura's step daughter was attractive, but she, the mother, was beautiful – and she always had been. As he sipped his espresso and watched her coming up the cobblestone Paris Street, Shiki Masachika remembered the day he met her more than twenty years ago, when they were both freshmen at Tokyo University. She was beautiful, shy and nervous, although the campus was less than ten miles from her home.

It was all such a lifetime ago.

She was pale now, clutching her red leather hand bag a she threaded her way among the scatter of tables at the street side café. She'd tied a red silk scarf over her hair and secured it with a knot to one side of her throat, and she wore black pants and a light-weight black-and-white sweater.

Every man in the university had wanted her. Shiki had been just one among many. They'd never dated, had only attended a few classes together before he'd had to leave in the middle of his sophomore year. Family problems, he'd told people, but that wasn't the reason. Money was. Always money.

When he'd transferred, everyone still assumed that Yuka Azumi would end up marrying handsome, likable Narumi Anju, who wasn't the best student or the worst but was, by far, the most ambitious. Instead, a month after graduation, Yuka married brilliant and eccentric Izumi Sakura a child of one who is twelve years her senior.

* * *

She inhaled sharply when she saw Shiki and almost stumbled backward. He had deliberately chosen her favorite café not far from the hotel she and her husband had shared since agreeing to participate in a special commission at the International Court of Justice at The Hague.

For a moment, Shiki thought Yuka would run in the opposite direction, but she regained her composure and proceeded to his table.

She sat across from him and looked at him as if she might have just found a disagreeable insect on her table. But he could see the fear in her brown eyes, the strain of the past twenty four hours. Paris was twelve hours and thirty-six minutes ahead of Tokyo – it was late afternoon now. This time yesterday, she would have been just getting the news of shooting in the Central Park.

"Did you have anything to do with what happened to my son?" she asked, her voice low, intense, accusatory.

"Yuka. How could you think –"

She didn't back off. "_Did_ you?"

Shiki sipped his espresso and took a small bite of the cookie that came with it. It was cool, windy afternoon. The café was un-crowded, although bicycles and people moved about in the streets. He was dressed casually in brown silk sweater and trousers, trying not to call attention to himself, although he doubted a federal agent would jump out of an alley and kidnap him back to Japan. They had bigger fish to fry. Or so they believed.

* * *

People often underestimate Yuka Sakura. Because she'd married a man so much older, because she devoted herself raising her children. An educated housewife, an amateur art historian. The condescension had to be hard for her to take at times. But Shiki had known her at sixteen, and he had never underestimated her – her intelligence, her determination, her grit. It was her steady devotion to her aging husband that had taken him by surprise. He'd seen it when he'd first contacted her last fall – another "chance" meeting – with the hope of maneuvering himself into her circle, the dream, even, of having an affair.

He remembered how much he'd wanted her at sixteen.

"I had nothing to do with the shooting." He kept his tone mild. "I've made my share of mistakes, but I'm not a violent man. You're upset. I understand."

"Don't patronize me. _Don't._" She didn't yell, but she was tight with anger an easier emotion for her, he thought, than fear. "You should turn in to Japanese authorities and go home to stand trial. You're a fugitive, Shiki. I don't want anything to do with you."

"My status is complicated legal matter."

"It's not complicated. You're charged with felony tax evasion. You were supposed appear for a trial in Japan court of law. Instead you fled." She looked away from him, her lower lip quivering, and a weakness she wouldn't want him to see. "You slipped out of the country to Switzerland –"

"I have a home there."

"You knew it would be difficult if not impossible for you to be extradited for tax evasion. I don't know about the France." She shifted her brown eyes on him. "Is it safe for you here?"

"Don't get carried away. It's trying legal matter. Nothing more."

"Did Ruka see you at the Musée du Louvre last month?" She kept her voice low, but her sarcasm was knifelike. "Did he recognize you? Did you have him shot because of it?"

Musée du Louvre. Shiki recognize now that intercepting her at the renowned Paris museum had been bad timing. He hadn't realized her son the Alice agent was in town. A critical oversight. But he'd only dared surface in France for a short time – he wanted to strengthen the bond between them now that he'd reestablished contact with her. It had been a long, trying winter. Seeing her had renewed his sense of hope.

Yet when they'd stood together three weeks ago in front of Paolo Veronese's, famous painting, The Wedding Feast at Cana, Yuka had told him – again – that she wanted nothing to do with him.

"Yuka. Please. I'm not here to argue with you were a familiar face, an old friend." That was the truth, as far as it went. Shiki smiled tenderly. "We had a pleasant visit when I was here last in November. A cup of coffee. A nice chat about old times. It was a chance encounter –"

"It wasn't chance. You arranged it. You manipulated me so that I'd run into you. I wasn't aware of your legal status, but I am now." She didn't soften. "And we were never friends."

* * *

He attributed her coldness and sarcasm to her desperate fear for her son. He let his gaze drift to the swell of her breasts, the soft shape of her hands. He'd accepted the chance of an affair was remote, at least while her husband was still alive. Shiki was a vital man, wealthy and his body taut, well conditioned. Izumi Sakura was old. Just plain old. He was in his fifties, but still force in diplomatic circles, an expert - a visionary – in international conflict resolution. A realist, not a romantic. A pragmatist, not ideologue. And a good man. He had humility, and he was kind. He'd endure terrible losses, a father dead in a longing accident at thirty-two a brother killed on the beaches of Okinawa, a wife he'd watched slowly waste away from cancer.

Yuka would never leave him. But he wouldn't live forever, either.

Right now, Shiki needed to play on her emotions – her sympathy for him as a former classmate, for the struggling sixteen years old she must remember. He was self-made man. He'd worked hard. He had so much to offer the world. But he couldn't contribute if he was behind the bars.

The Sakuras were known for their compassion.

And they had the ear of the new prime minister of Japan.

Yuka was right. It wasn't just friendship that had drawn him to her. Shiki wanted to convince her to tell her friend, Narumi Anju, that their old classmate deserved a break. He'd paid a price for his mistakes. He would use his wealth for good.

He wanted her to get him a presidential pardon. It would stop the legal proceedings against him dead on their tracks. A pardon wouldn't exonerate him, but it would keep him out of prison and buy time to distance himself from his other activities before they, too, caught up with him. Time to take his profits and move on.

* * *

"How's Ruka?" Shiki asked quietly.

Her eyes glistened with sudden tears – a mother's tears. They made her seem vulnerable, even more beautiful. He'd wanted Yuka Azumi for a long time. He had wanted that she'd been at sixteen, and had wanted what she could do for him now, as woman, as a friend and confidante of Prime Minister Narumi Anju.

"Oh, Shiki. Damn. I must be out of my mind. I don't approve of what you've done, but tax evasion-" She collapsed back against her chair. "It's not a violent crime."

"You're upset because of Ruka. I understand."

Even in her early forties, her skin was translucent, smooth and barely lined, her delicate bone structure the stuff of a man's dreams. Shiki wanted to take her hand and comfort her, but he knew better, resisted the instinctive reaction to her tears. A mother's grief. She gulped in a breath. "He's holding his own. I want to be there now –" She broke off, biting back a sob.

"When will you go?"

"As soon as we can. I told Mikan - " She stopped herself, as if she realized she was venturing into territory that was none of his business. "Travel isn't as easy as before, and he's in middle of critical meetings. If Ruka was in danger – we'd be there now."

"Of course you would."

"But his doctors tell us that each – day – each hour – that passes without complications is a good sign. They expected him to make a full recovery." She held her purse close to her chest and got to her feet. "Mikan's in Tokyo. My Step-daughter. She was at the Musée du Louvre too."

Shiki had seen her. Pretty, smart. One of his men had delayed her to give him time to speak to her mother – who'd promptly told him she didn't want him to contact her again.

"I hope Mikan didn't see you," Yuka said. "I hope no one saw you."

He leaned back, studying her as he had when he'd sat behind her in a dull philosophy class.

He sighed, pushing his coffee aside. "Yuka, please believe that I had nothing to do with the shooting yesterday."

"I wish we'd never run into each other." She seemed tired now, spent. "Call the Japanese embassy. Turn yourself in. If you're innocent, trust the judicial system -"

"My attorneys - "

"I don't want to hear about your damn lawyers!"

She took a breath, her tears are gone now. "You should have told me right from the start you were on the lam. I shouldn't have had to find out on my own."

He narrowed his gaze on her. "How did you find out?"

She averted her eyes. "That doesn't matter."

But it did. Misaki Andou had told her. Yuka had to wonder why an army stationed in Germany had contacted her to discuss her relationship with him.

Did Yuka know that Misaki was murdered in Paris, two days after the meeting about him?

"Stay away from me," Yuka whispered tightly. "Stay away from my family."

With a spurt of energy, she jumped up, almost turning over a chair as she made her way back out to the narrow cobblestone street, then quickly disappeared past a cheese-and-bread shop. She was smartly dressed, but she wore shoes that could handle Paris' many brick and cobblestone and streets, reminding him that she wasn't sixteen anymore.

* * *

A large group of Japanese tourists started rearranging tables, calling loudly, cheerfully, to each other about who would sit where.

A street musician fired up his accordion and moved in, playing a cheer tune. The tourist laughed, loving it.

Shiki paid for his coffee and walked down the street to a small Mercedes that awaited him. The back door opened, and he slid onto the cool leather seat next to Mochu, his most experienced bodyguard.

"She won't say anything," Shiki said. "She hasn't told anyone that we've met. She's not going to now that her son's been shot. It would only complicate the situation for everyone – her, her husband, her son. The Minister."

"Is she afraid?"

"Terrified."

He sighed, his pulse quickening. Yes, terrified. And yet all beautiful Yuka Azumi Sakura knew was that her old _acquaintance_ from college was a convicted tax evader.

"Did she believe you?"

"About her son? I don't know." That troubled him, because he told her the truth. He'd had nothing to do with the shooting. "Have you heard from our man in Tokyo? Does he have any idea what the hell's going on there?"

Mochu shook his head. He was dark haired man, angular, good-looking and lethal. Thrown out of the Japanese army. A mercenary, plain and simple. "Nothing."

"Be prepared. You might have to go there."

Mochu smiled. "All of my passports are in order."

Shiki knew not to ask how many passports, how many identities, Mochu – if that was his real name – had at his disposal. Even if Mochu would tell him, which he wouldn't, there was always, for Shiki, the question of plausible deniability. Something better of not knowing. His people knew it and sometimes didn't trouble him with details.

Could his man in Tokyo have taken it upon himself try to kill Ruka Sakura?

If so, he should have finished the job – done it right and killed both agents. Now it could look like a botched job, which, if his friends or enemies thought he was behind it, would only make Shiki appear more weak.

* * *

The Mercedes pulled out into Paris tangle of impossibly narrow streets, many indistinguishable from the sidewalks and ubiquitous bike paths. Shiki settled back in his seat and shut his eyes, picturing himself bike riding in the hills of Osaka as a boy picking wild strawberries on a warm spring day, driving north to Kyoto with his father and walking up little round top as his father regaled him with details of the World War II. It had all sound romantic. To Father, the soldiers on sides exemplified duty, honor, integrity and courage. They were men who'd never give up.

Shiki imagined the federal agents hunting him were much the same. He had no illusions they'd forgotten about him. "Failure to appear" was not a good thing. If convicted of the tax charges, he faced a maximum sentence of five years in federal prison – why would taking off Switzerland before his trail tack onto his sentence?

Going to trial was not an option.

Prison wasn't an option.

But he could never go home.

That was what he hadn't realized, on a soul-deep level, when he'd fled.

He did now.

He opened his eyes; saw a Dutch couple riding bicycles with their blond toddlers in little seats on the handlebars. Everything seemed so foreign to him. He felt familiar lump in his throat. He was, he thought, so far from home.

* * *

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BTW. I sincerely I apologize for the wrong grammars and spellings for the past chapters, But I promise I'll definitely try my best to improve my writing...

* * *

Sneak peak for the next chapter:

_There beer arrived, and Natsume took a sip of his, eyeing her. "There's nothing else?"_

_She didn't touch her beer. "What do you mean?"_

_"There's no other reason for Ruka to be worried about you?"_

_"No of course not. Is this a friendly drink or an interrogation?"_

_His smile caught her completely off guard. "Neither."_

_She felt the heat rush to her cheeks._

* * *

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~claire-chan143


	11. Chapter 8

Here's an update of Lie Down With A Lion...  
Hope you Enjoy!

* * *

Mikan passed bellmen and limousine on Central Town and lingered a few seconds under the awning of the expensive hotels where the news conference touting the joint task force had been held.

She could almost see Natsume Hyuuga and her brother walking out onto the street in their dark suits, relieved to have that tedious ninety minutes behind them.

The weather was better today. Cool, partly cloudy.

And it was later in the day. Afternoon rush hour.

Mikan made her way across the street. There had to be more cars and more pedestrian on Central Town now than yesterday at midday.

For the first time all day, she was – at last – alone. She walked alongside the stone fence overlooking the south end park of the park until she came to Fifth Avenue, which ran along the huge park's eastern side.

Her interview with Kokoro Yome had been short and straight to the point. Mikan had made it clear that Minister Anju had checked on her simply as a friend. It wasn't a big deal. She didn't know whether Koko was convinced or not. She spent the afternoon with her brother for five or ten minutes at a time. He was still out of it from surgery and medications, but when he was awake enough to talk, he told her to go back to Kyoto.

Mikan had finally told everyone she needed to get out on her own for a while. By herself. No Agents, no FBI, no doctors. No seriously injured brother she was upsetting with her presence.

What if Ruka got into trouble for being the Minister's friend? Had he intentionally kept it a secret from his bosses, and now his step-sister had opened her big mouth? In hindsight, Mikan wished she'd taken the phone into the bathroom of her hotel room instead of talking to Narumi right there in front of an Alice Agent. Let Ruka be the one to tell his colleague about their friendship with the minister.

She stopped hard at the Fifty-ninth street entrance into the Central Park, the same one her brother and Natsume had used yesterday.

The new leave on the trees were fresh spring-green, not as thick as the leaves in Northern Woods, and when Mikan started down the stone steps, she saw the stretches of lush grass and the thousands of tulips that had been shown repeatedly on the television coverage of the shooting.

The crime scene tape was gone. Mikan didn't notice any FBI agents or reporters, but she did see two uniformed Tokyo police officers on foot.

Her breathing was shallow, her stomach tight with tension.

Ducks floated along the pond's edge. An elderly woman with a cane settled onto a bench as if nothing had happened there, and three animated women in sneakers fast-walked north into the park.

Normalcy.

People must accepted that the sniper had specifically targeted two agents, and yesterday's shooting wasn't a random shooting wasn't a random act likely to be repeated, at least not with regular people in the crosshairs. Maybe with another fed.

Maybe with an agent's sister.

Mikan pushed the ridiculous thought out of her mind and continued gingerly down the steps.

There'd been no warning- no man seen running with a gun, no shouted demands from the bushes. Just Ruka jerking with the impact of the first shot, Natsume seeing the blood and getting them both to cover.

She spotted the rock outcropping and realized for the first time that the park was well below street level here at its southeast corner.

Was the shooter hiding somewhere in the bush now, watching, waiting?

She warned herself not to succumb to her family penchant for drama and instead tried to absorb some of the get-on-with-life spirit of the tourist and people around her.

But her hands were clammy, and her vision seemed constricted, as if her mind was resisting taking in the details of her surrounding, mixing them with those of what she'd seen on television on the shooting, what she'd been told and had heard in the hospital corridors.

According to news reports, witnesses hadn't heard shot fired or noticed anything out of the ordinary, certainly no one crouched in the bushes with an assault rifle. They'd only seen the two men falling, the tall one helping the more seriously injured one to cover behind the rocks, his gun drawn as he shouted instructions to onlookers, then the Tokyo police officers descending.

The undergrowth along the pond and on the hillside below Central Park conceivably could hide a hooter, but how could he get away with a near instantaneous dragnet dropping on the surrounding are? How could he have avoided being seen crawling under the brush, setting up his weapon? The pond – that was its name, just the pond – was a wildlife sanctuary in the heart of the city.

Mikan reminded herself she wasn't an investigator or firearms expert. She ran her fingertips along the smooth granite face of the rock out cropping.

As she forced herself to take a deep breath she noticed a man standing at the stone fence above her on the Central park. He seemed to be watching her. He wore black turtleneck and black leather jacket that were a little too warm for the conditions.

She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.

The clothes. The dark hair.

She squinted – yes, the angular features.

She'd seen him before.

Not in Japan. He wasn't a reporter, a doctor, an agent.

_Where?_

Paris.

Mikan expelled the air from her lungs and tried to gulp in more, but her head was spinning. How could it have been Paris?

Musée du Louvre.

Now she remembered. She'd flown to Paris from Scotland three weeks ago to visit her parents while Ruka was there on vacation.

They'd all gone to Musée du Louvre together.

What difference did it make if it was the same man she'd seen at the museum?

The man above her made eye contact with her briefly, then turned and disappeared across the street.

Mikan started for a bench, but her knees buckled under her. She felt herself sinking. _Darn. I can't faint._

"Hold your breath." Natsume Hyuuga walked up behind her, speaking firmly, even sternly. "You're hyperventilating."

"I'm not – I can't breathe."

"It just feels that way."

She nodded, doing as he said. He slipped an arm around her middle and stood motionless, silent, for the minute or so it took for her to get her breathing back to normal.

Feeling foolish, she stepped back out of his arm. "I'm okay now. Thanks," She was too far away to have made a credible, positive identification of the man – of anyone – up on the central park. Thinking she recognize him had to have been a trick of her imagination. A product of stress of the past two days. "I hope you didn't hurt your arm."

Natsume seemed even taller than he had at the hospital. "I didn't grab you with my injured arm, although I could have. It's doing fine."

"I wouldn't have fainted."

He smirked. "Of course."

Mikan had no intention of telling him that she may recognize someone up on the street. Tokyo had a population of 13.22million – it had to be a common experience for people to think they saw someone they knew and have it turn out to be a perfect stranger. She didn't even know why she remembered the man from Paris. Because he'd stopped to look at a Dutch painting with her while waiting for her mother?

Not entirely, she thought. She also had wondered if he might be with the silver-haired man who'd stopped to say hello to her mother in front of Paolo Veronese's, famous painting, _The Wedding Feast at Cana._

But that happened all the time. Her parents knew many people that Mikan had never met.

"I didn't expect you to have that reaction," she said, recovering for her embarrassment. "I've never fainted. I thought – I guess I didn't think. I just ended up here, and assumed I was prepared." She directed her gaze at Natsume, met his crimson eyes with an incisive look of her own. "Did you follow me from the hospital or are you here for your own reasons?"

"Both."

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Probably. There's a hotel bar I like between here and hospital. I can get a drink and take a breather, and you can get something to eat before you really pass out. When's the last time you ate?"

She thought a moment. "I had a candy bar at lunch."

"No wonder you're wobbly. Your blood sugar must be in the cellar." He nodded toward the steps back up to the fifth avenue. "Let's go."

"Hyuuga-san –"

"Call me Natsume."

"Okay." She made herself smile. "It's still hard for me to think of my brother as Agent Nogi. When I think of Agents, I tend to think to think of James Bond and Jethro Gibbs of NCSI."

One corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing as he led her to the sixth-avenue and a hotel with a sprawling ground-floor bar that looked out on the street. They sat at a small round table near a window. He ordered a beer, and she ordered a beer and a quesadilla, wondering if she'd have pegged him as a federal agent if she were just meeting him.

More likely as someone here to rob the place, she thought.

Maybe if he were in suit.

"You okay?" he asked.

She checked her thoughts. "Yes, fine. Thank you."

He settled back in his cushioned chair, his so-red eyes narrowed. Although he gave off an air of nonchalance, nothing about him was relaxed. "I can see why your brother wants to get rid of you. You don't belong here."

"I was hoping you hadn't overheard that."

She scooped up a handful of peanuts and tiny pretzels from a small bowl their waitress had dropped off and noticed the strain in his face, the shadow under his eyes. He'd been out yesterday. Getting shot, trying to save a colleague. He wouldn't have known if the sniper meant to mow down everyone within his sights.

"Ruka's just scared and frustrated," she went on. "It can't be easy for him to lie in that hospital bed, hurting, unable to chase after whoever shot him."

"He wouldn't be able to chase after the shooter, regardless. It's not his job."

"Or yours?"

His gaze settled on her. "That's right."

The man had zero sense of humor, at least right now – or humor wasn't something he used to defuse his own anxiety. Or anyone else's. Like hers. "Ruka and I are step-brother and sister."

"So I hear. "

"We're very close. I'm sure he's just projecting his own feelings onto me. I think that's what I just did in the park. I could imagine him out there yesterday it was so real. On some subconscious level, Ruka wants to be safe in Northern Woods himself, so he wants me to be there."

"He's worried about you."

"Projection. He's dealing with his own fears by worrying that I could be the shooter's next victim."

"I've learn to pay attention to my instincts."

"I'm not talking about instincts." She decided she should just stop talking, trying to explain. Natsume was a concrete thinker. Give him the fact; skip the bullshit, the loosey-goosey bond between brother and sister. "I'm sure instincts are fine when they're not clouded by medications, surgery and blood loss."

Their beer arrived, and Natsume took a sip of his, eyeing her. "There's nothing else?"

She didn't touch her beer. "What do you mean?"

"There's no other reason for Ruka to be worried about you?"

"No of course not. Is this a friendly drink or an interrogation?"

His smile caught her completely off guard. "Neither."

She felt the heat rush to her cheeks.

"I promised your brother we'd look after you," he added.

"Oh."

Their waiter brought her quesadilla. Natsume nodded to her. "You should eat some of that before you belt down your drink."

"What about you? Aren't you on pain medication? I didn't think it mixed with alcohol – "

"I'm on Tylenol."

Mikan lifted a triangle of the hot quesadilla, realizing about him made her feel so self-conscious. He'd seen her in weak moments twice in one day. It was a thing with her, she knew – she didn't like men seeing her when she was vulnerable, thinking they had to take over her life because she was small and blond and book-smart. And impulsive, she thought. It was impulsiveness that had taken her to Central Park and put her in the position where she was having a beer and a quesadilla with this man.

She noticed that the sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He had taut muscles in his forearms. She assumed he was armed but couldn't see his weapon under his shirt. She'd never gotten used to the idea of her brother walking around armed. What was it he carried? A Glock, she thought.

She pulled herself from her thoughts. "Ruka's just freaked out by what happened," she said. "Don't try to read anything into his concerns."

"Right, Ruka. I'll remember that."

There was a slight edge to his words. She swallowed her bite of quesadilla. "I don't mean to tell you how to do your job."

"Forget it. I've been in a bad mood all day." He paused, the incisive gaze settling on her again. "Sorry if I'm making you feel uncomfortable."

She licked her lips. "I have a feeling you make most people uncomfortable."

He winked at her. "You look as if you can handle it."

She took another triangle of quesadilla, the hot cheese oozing out onto the plate. She realized how hungry she was. "Aren't you hungry? You're welcome to a piece –"

"Beer's fine. You're an archaeologist?"

"Historical archaeologist." She was aware of him watching her and wondered if he could see the strain of the past two days on her. Did she look drawn and tense? But she hadn't been shot, she reminded herself. She'd had bad news. There was a difference. But, once more, she forced herself not to let her thoughts drift too far astray, not to let Natsume Hyuuga have that kind of an effect on her. "It means I deal in the historical period – people and societies that left behind some sort of historical evidence. Letters, diaries, books and so on. Historical archaeology, anthropology, history, folklore – the idea is to try to piece together what everyday life was like in the past."

He took a drink of his beer, in a tall, slender glass. "You don't dig up bones?"

"I can. I'm more likely to dig up a family dump – what we call the material remains of a site. We put them together with any written record and oral history." She smiled. "It's rather like quilting. There are all these pieces that make up a fascinating whole."

"You could go on forever, couldn't you?"

"I almost have, haven't I?"

"No. I'm not bored." He held up his glass. "Helps to have a beer. I understand you've spent most of your career working on Minister Anju's childhood home."

That brought her up short. "Ruka told you?"

He shook his head. "Hotaru. She checked you out."

Taken aback, Mikan abandoned her quesadilla. What she'd thought was a casual, friendly conversation about what she did for a living was obviously something else entirely. She wondered if Natsume Hyuuga allowed himself casual, friendly conversations or if he was all work, all time.

Then again, they were just a few blocks from where he'd been shot a little more than twenty-four hours ago. Under the circumstances, she could cut him some slack.

And herself, she thought. She didn't have to get everything right, not today.

"I suppose that's not to be expected," she said trying to hide how upset she was. "He wasn't minister when I became interested in the Anju's house. He wasn't even the governor of Kyoto. I was in high school. Himemiya and Shizune Anju, the sisters who raised him, were our neighbors and very dear friends."

"They are the ones who found Narumi Anju on the doorstep?"

Suddenly Mikan could picture them in their rockers as elderly women, reminiscing, wandering from one topic to another and back again as they talked about neighbors, family, friends, people they'd met on the river – and, always, their fight to keep and raise the infant boy they'd found one Sunday morning on their porch overlooking the river.

Now he was the Prime Minister. It was the sort of story Japanese loved. Some were already placing it along side George Washington's cherry trees and Abe Lincoln's log cabin.

"He was in an apple basket," Mikan said. "Dr. Greene, Himemiya and Shizune's doctor said he wasn't more than two days old."

"Do you have a theory about who his mother was?"

"Theories, rumors and hints are easy to come by."

She wasn't Narumi Anju's biographer – she hardly touched on his life. It was the Anju house, the Anju family, the site itself and its development along the river that had excited her. Narumi was a neighbor and a friend. He was complicated, driven, ambitious, and compassionate. And, now, he was the Prime minister – not exactly an "ordinary" person.

Natsume seemed, finally, to sense her ambivalence and changed the subject. "Ruka said you two grow up together in Nashville more than you did in Kyoto."

"We went to school in Nashville. Home is Northern Woods."

He smiled. "Do you speak seven languages like your brother does?"

"French, English and a little Spanish. Ruka's always had a gift for languages."

"You and your family weren't prepared for him to become an agent, were you?"

"I didn't even realize special agents were still around."

His eyes sparked with unexpected humor. "Thought we went out James Bond and Jethro Gibbs?"

"I still don't know exactly what you do."

He swallowed more of his beer. "Some days neither do I. How's the quesadilla?"

She hadn't touched another bite. "It's good. Have some."

"My family left me with a refrigerator full of food."

"Parents, brothers, sisters?"

"An uncle, a sister and brother-in-law. No parents. They got killed hiking in a storm on cold ridge when I was seven."

"You're the oldest?"

"My sister was five."

"So they don't really remember, and you do."

His eyes were distant. "You're quick, Mikan. Most people don't get that right away."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

"No need to be sorry."

She thought he meant it. "Sometimes I can be too impulsive. It's been known to get me into trouble."

"You don't look like a troublemaker."

She laughed. "That's why it surprises people when I do something I shouldn't." She stared at the rest of her quesadilla, no longer hungry. "My parents are still in Paris. It's not that easy for my father to travel these days. Flying to Japan again would be hard on him. And, no," she added, "I'm not making excuses for him or my mother. It's just the reality we all have to deal with."

"Does he advise the minister?"

"As a friend, if asked."

"He was an assistant secretary of Japan –"

"For about five minutes for an administration that was not Narumi L. Anju's."

"They get along?"

"Very much so." She sat back, studying the man across from her. "Agent Yome asked me many of these questions, you know."

Natsume surprised her again by smiling. "But he was asking them because he's conducting an investigation. I'm asking because I'm curious."

"I think you're looking for distractions."

"Maybe. I've worked with your brother for four months. I didn't have a clue he was pals with the president. I need a little time to adjust."

Mikan doubted he'd needed more than a half second to adjust, but she didn't call him on it.

"Ruka visited your folks in Paris a few weeks ago. Were you there?"

She thought of the man in the park and felt her stomach tighten, even as she reminded herself it had to be a case of mistaken identity. "I flew in from Scotland. We don't get that many opportunities to be together as a family."

"I've never been to Paris." Natsume finished the last of his beer. "What's it like?"

"Narrow streets, a mix of old and new buildings, crowded, fascinating more diverse than you might think. _Lots _of bicycles. The canals are beautiful – we all did a canal tour."

She didn't mention the Musée du Louvre, because if she did, her anxiety would show, Natsume would see it, and she'd have to tell him about the man in the park and what nutcase she was for thinking she'd recognized him from the museum. But that had been such strange day, her, Ruka, their parents, playing tourist, trying to be a family in that foreign city because that was where they'd found themselves together.

She couldn't eat anymore and took one last sip of beer, her glass still half-full. She offered Natsume money for the tab, but he refused. As he pulled out his wallet, she noticed that he favored his injured arm and saw him wince in pain. She regretted ho close she'd come to loosing it in the park, to the point he'd obviously felt he'd whisk her; they'd been so much worse for him and her brother.

The evening air had turned chilly, but Mikan felt hot, agitated. Natsume was watching her closely – too closely, as if he believed she was trying to hide something from him. Not pleasant position to be in. But she didn't consider herself to be hiding anything. She'd mistaken about the man in the park.

And Natsume was just recovering from a bullet wound and shocking attack that could have killed him.

She had no business reading anything into his actions, his questions, the way he looked at her.

"I should get back to the hospital," she said. "It really was serendipity that you followed me. Thanks."

He stepped off the curb to flag a cab. "I don't believe in serendipity."

She smiled at him. "Of course not."

When they arrived back at the hospital, Ruka was out for the night – and Natsume was done for. Mikan could see it in his dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes. "Do you have a car?" she asked him when they returned to the waiting room. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"That bad, huh?" He grinned at her, a sudden spark in his eyes. "You can drive me home another time, Dr. Sakura. When I don't look and feel like death on a cracker."

Her mouth snapped shut.

He laughed, and although he sounded exhausted, she felt a tingle of pure sexual awareness dance up her spine.

After he left, Hotaru Imai put down a magazine she'd been staring at and shook her head. "That man. Total hard-ass, married to the job and absolute hell on women. They all fall for him."

"Did you?"

"No way." She grinned. "I go for the southern prince charming type."

Mikan laughed.

"I think Natsume liked following you. Gave him something to do. He does not tolerate idleness well." Hotaru got to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. "This should be a warning to you."

Not knowing what to say, Mikan peeked in on her brother. He looked better. Not well, but better. She wondered if he wanted her out of town not so much because a sniper in the park, but because of the reputation of his senior deputy – but that was a lot of silliness. She rejoined Hotaru in the hall and set out to her apartment for another night with the robots and other inventions.

* * *

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Till the next chapter...  
~claire-chan143


	12. Chapter 9

Here's Chapter 9  
Enjoy! :)

* * *

Mikan awoke to the snooze of the alarm. She'd acquiesced to another night on the futon in Hotaru's room and slept better, but not much better, than she had the night before. When Hotaru suggested they get breakfast somewhere, Mikan jumped at the chance.

They walked to a dinner and tucked themselves into a small booth with vinyl seat. Mikan ordered a cheese omelet and iced tea. She didn't feel as trapped as hemmed in and claustrophobic, as she had yesterday and realize it had been her own fears at work, not anything her brother's colleague had done to her.

At least she'd had the good sense not to mention the man at the park to Hotaru or especially to Natsume Hyuuga. Thinking she'd recognized him from Paris seemed even more ridiculous this morning. It was simply her nerves playing on her, ratcheting up the stakes and the tension. Her Sakura genes kicking in.

The omelet was hot and perfectly cooked, and Mikan ate every bite, determined not to let low blood sugar affect her thinking – she'd had a shock. Even if Ruka's situation was far worse than her own, she had to give herself time to adjust to what had happened.

Hotaru had a bagel and a cup of black coffee.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked Mikan.

Mikan nodded. "The street traffic is like white noise after a while, aren't they? I haven't lived in a city in so long." She drank more of her tea. "Where are you from originally?"

"Osaka." But Hotaru was obviously uncomfortable talking about herself and picked up the bill, heading for the cash register. "Come on. We'll take a cab to the hospital. I'll figure out a way to bypass the media if they look like they're going to pounce."

They'd watched the news last night and heard Narumi Anju's statement about his friendship with the Sakuras. It was no secret – it'd been covered in his campaign. Just no one had though the agent shot in Central Park _was_ a member of _that_ Sakura family considering he was using the surname Nogi.

Narumi hadn't called, but Mikan told herself that she couldn't expect him to.

When they arrived at the hospital, over a dozen of reporters gathered at the ambulance entrance not far from the main door. Video cameras were rolling, photographers snapping pictures, reporters asking questions. Mikan got out of the cab, and noticed Natsume in the middle of the throng.

"Ouch," Hotaru said, coming next to her. "He doesn't look very happy, does he? Hell. They've got him surrounded. He should pull a faint or something and get out of there."

A young female reporter thrust a microphone in his face.

"Agent Hyuuga, Kuonji-san was a known informant. Did you or Agent Ruka tell him that you would be in at the news conference?"

Then more questions, coming all at once.

"Do you believe he was the shooter?"

Sources say he died of a drug overdose – do you think he was celebrating the central park attack?"

"Can you confirm that the rifle allegedly used in the shooting was found at his side?"

"What about the prime minister? Has he talked to Ruka Sakura?"

Natsume held up a hand. "Sorry. No comment. If you'll excuse me."

That was it. He was done.

Hotaru huddled close to Mikan and maneuvered her toward the main entrance. "Let's get you out of here before they recognized you."

"What about Natsume."

"He can take care of himself."

Once past security and into the hospital lobby, Mikan shuddered as if she'd shaken of a swarm of bees. She turned to Hotaru. "What was that all about? Does the FBI have the sniper? It sounds as if he's dead – "

"I'll see what I can find out."

Who's Kuonji? Did you realize he was a suspect?" She took a breath, but Hotaru didn't respond, simply banged the up button for the elevator. Mikan felt stab of dread. "It sound as if the media think someone screwed up –"

"It's the FBI's investigation," Hotaru said tightly.

"Let's go –"

Mikan shook her head. "I'm fine on my own today. Really. Tell your bosses I appreciate the moral support."

"Mikan –"

"I'm used of being on my own, and I'm not in any danger."

Hotaru sighed. "I'll see you upstairs in ten minutes."

She headed back through the lobby towards the main entrance and the reporters, presumably, Mikan thought, to find what was going on.

The elevators churned and groaned inside the empty shafts. She didn't feel nearly as raw and exhausted as yesterday. She'd showered, put on fresh clothes – short, a red long sleeve hoodie and sneakers. Her morning call to Ruka's nurse had left a feeling optimistic. He'd had a good night sleep and was more alert today. They'd be getting him up and moving.

A trio of medical students floated toward the elevators in an intense discussion.

Natsume Hyuuga walked past them at a fast, deliberately pace.

There was no sign of Hotaru behind him.

Where was he off to?

The elevator dinged. Mikan watched its door open, and then bolted down the corridor, going after Natsume at a half run.

He had decent head start on her – she almost missed him retreating through a side door. It was an "Exit only," not an entrance and she went through it without hesitation.

When she reached the street, Natsume was climbing into the driver's side of a red SSC Ultimate Aero parked about fifty yards up from the ambulance entrance and the throng of reporters.

With an outward calm, Mikan stepped off the curb and stuck her hand up in the air, flagging a cab before she had seriously considered her options. She opened the rear door and climbed in. "Can you follow that red car just in front of us? He left his wallet."

"I can flash my lights –"

"No, that's not necessary. I'll just give it to him wherever he stops."

She knew what she was doing was wrong. Impulsive, insane. Even dumb. She was following an Alice agent who'd just been shot and undoubtedly was no mood to find her on his tail. Natsume didn't seem to have a lot of patience on a good day. And, given the journalistic onslaught he'd just faced and the possibility that an Alice informant was the shooter, this couldn't be starting off as a good day.

Not that he'd looked upset or irritated. He'd looked focused, as if he were on a mission.

Possibly doing something he shouldn't be doing?

She'd sensed his bridled energy last night.

As exhausted as he was, he was a man of action. He didn't take to being on sidelines.

Wounded, still experiencing the shock of what had happened to him, he could easily go off half-cocked.

Maybe today was _his_ day to fall apart, to feel trapped and hemmed in by events, and if she could keep him from doing something he'd later regret, why not?

It was her version of catching him before he fell flat on his face.

Payback for saving her brother's life.

She stared out the window, her cab speeding north. She knew she was rationalizing her behavior.

But she didn't tell her driver to turn around, and tailing Natsume proved easier than she expected.

They ended up in run-down section of the city on a mixed bag of street, some buildings neat and clean, even boasting window boxes; others were complete wrecks with nasty graffiti, broken windows, and people loitering on the steps. Fortunately, Natsume's car stopped in front of one of the neat buildings.

He mounted the front steps at a trot and disappeared inside. No one had buzzed him in, and he hadn't used a key – which meant there was no lock on the main door.

Mikan paid her cab driver. "I'll be a minute. Can you wait for me?"

He didn't answer, but the moment she shut her door, he was hurling up the street, leaving her on the curb.

Okay, so she'd have to find another cab back.

Or ask Natsume for a ride.

She winced at the thought. Preferably, she wouldn't even have to see him. She just wanted to make sure he hadn't gone off the deep end.

Who was she kidding? _She_ was one who'd gone off the deep end in following him.

A stout, elderly woman wearing a wild hat mounted the steps to an adjoining building, more run down than the one Natsume entered, and two young women in white uniforms rushed along the sidewalk, talking in Spanish – Mikan made out something about an exercise class they were taking. Their casual attitude helped her feel safer, although she had no idea where she was.

The front door was, indeed, unlocked, creaking loudly when Mikan pushed it open.

The entry smelled of a strong cleaning solution. She could hear music playing somewhere above her. The ordinates of the scene helped her to relax slightly. Natsume had followed her to Central Park yesterday. Even if hr motives weren't entirely pure, why shouldn't she follow him?

_Because he's a federal law enforcement officer._

But she was an historical archaeologist, and that took a certain amount of curiosity, guts and drive – a willingness to take risks.

Not that she'd thought through the particular risks, whatever they might be, of following a

Wounded agent.

She had no idea where Natsume was. Upstairs, down the hall. Was there a basement? Should she start knocking on doors?

Feeling less smug about her tailing abilities, Mikan stood at the bottom of the stairs and contemplated her options. Just wait for him here?

"You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"

She almost screamed and spun around so fast, her hair whipped into her face. Natsume had materialized behind her. Mikan caught her breath. "Scare me to death, why don't you?"

His crimson eyes bored into her. "It's a thought."

Mikan told herself he had a right to be irritated with her. But she didn't let it get to her. "Where were you?"

"Let's go."

"This isn't your apartment, is it?" She glanced around the tidy, worn entry. "I thought you were going home. Hotaru and I saw you with the reporters and I concerned -"

"Bullsh*t."

She sighed. No way was she worming herself out of this one. "Okay, fine. You think the FBI has the wrong shooter, don't you? This guy, Kuonji –"

She was out the door before she realized what was happening. Her feet were touching the ground, but she wasn't walking on her own down the stairs and out to his car.

He opened the passenger door with his injured arm, apparently by mistake, and swore, then shoved her inside. "Watch you head."

"Going to cuff me, too?"

"I could. You're interfering with federal investigation."

"Me? What about you? Last time I checked, you were a wounded Alice Agent who supposed to stay on the sideline –"

He banged her door shut and walked around the front to driver's side.

She felt a wave of guilt when he climbed in "Do you want me to drive?"

He didn't answer.

"You're arm – is it bleeding?"

"Doesn't matter."

"You didn't need to haul me out of there. You could have asked politely, and I'd have left."

He started the engine. "I'm not in a polite mood."

"Are you ever?"

"Sure." He smiled at her then, a smile that reached his hard eyes and was so unexpected and so sexy, so _deliberately_ sexy, it curled her toes. "I can be very polite."

Hotaru had spotted Mikan jumping into a cab and following Natsume's car and almost went after her – then she figured Natsume could handle Ruka's pretty Ph.D. sister all by himself.

She wasn't surprised when Natsume dropped Mikan off at the private room. "Don't let her out of your sight." He said through gritted teeth, and then disappeared down the hall.

Mikan's cheeks were slightly flushed, but otherwise she didn't look as stricken as most people would after pissing off Natsume Hyuuga. And she didn't look particularly guilty for having done it. But why the hell wasn't he at home in bed? Hotaru couldn't muster a lot of sympathy for him.

She crumpled up her paper water cup. "Dare I ask what happened?"

"Nothing. I followed him." Mikan sighed and sat in one of the plastic chairs. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Hotaru tossed the paper cup and poured herself more coffee. It smelled fine to her, but people had been complaining about all morning. "Most people kind of wilt for bit after getting chewed out by Natsume. He's not exactly your warm and fuzzy agent."

Mikan managed a smile. "Is there such a thing?" But she didn't wait for an answer. "Did you learn anything about Kuonji?"

Hotaru had no intention of getting into the scuttlebutt on Kuonji. "Just what's in the media. Turns out two witnesses identified him. Said they saw him crouched in the bushes on the bank just below Central Park. He had rifle."

"Does the FBI believe he's their shooter?"

"There's been no official comment –"

"Tell me unofficially then."

Hotaru thought a moment. Mikan was upset, if not about Natsume catching her following him, then about her brother, the whole situation. She deserved what answer Hotaru could give her. "It's hard to say. Nobody's talking right now. Everyone's being tight lipped around here. We can't afford to screw up. No one wants the shooter to have crack at Natsume and Ruka – or anyone else."

"Why doesn't Natsume have security detail?"

Hotaru smiled. "He _is_ a security detail."

Mikan didn't seem satisfied with that explanation. "Ruka has guards just because he's more seriously injured?"

"Correct."

With both hands, she raked her fingers through her hair, and then made an abrupt change in the subject. "I've been in Scotland on and off for moths, working nonstop to finish a major project. I saw Ruka briefly in Paris last month, but it wasn't nearly enough to get caught up with each other. What happened to the two of you?"

Hotaru shrugged. "We did great when we were working out of different district offices – not so great when we both ended up in Tokyo."

"You were here first?"

"That wasn't the problem. I'm more ambitious than your brother."

Mikan smiled. "Ruka can be very driven, but he's not ambitious."

Hotaru nodded in spite of her own urge to give Mikan Sakura hell for following an agent. "I should find myself a nice guy who doesn't know how to shoot. Why on earth did Ruka become an agent? I never figured that one out."

"I've always thought he watched too many James Bond movies."

But Mikan rising suddenly shook her head. "I think Ruka just like the idea of doing something that made tangible difference. Catching fugitives, escaped prisoners Con artist and the likes, protecting federal court – it's more like what my ancestor did."

"He told me some of them were bank robbers."

"Trains and river boats, mostly. Not that many banks. And it was only one - Kazumi Sakura. He ended up going west and getting killed."

"Probably by an agent from the sound of him." Mikan picked up the coffeepot, but seemed oblivious to how old and nasty its contents were. "Natsume does he hold a grudge?"

Hotaru tossed her crumpled cup into the trash. "Forever."

To her credit, Mikan seemed neither surprised nor distresses at the prospect of having fallen out his good graces. She set the coffeepot down, obviously having reconsidered the merits of pouring herself a cup – Hotaru figured it was rough enough coffee even for committed coffee drinker like herself.

"I'm going to check on Ruka." Mikan mumbled.

Given her track record, Hotaru followed her down the hall and made sure Mikan was inside the I.C.U. before retreating back to the waiting room.

Hotaru was fidgety and jumpy from too much bad coffee and her prolonged high state of tension. She knew Kuonji. Most people in the district office did. Ruka had reeled him in as an informant three months ago. He'd provided good information that had led to several high-profile arrests, ones the news conference yesterday had underscored. There'd been rumors Ruka had tried to get Kuonji into witness protection program, but Kuonji had balked. He didn't want to leave behind his neighborhood. Someone had to be a real player.

And he was a drug addict who always vowed he was going to stay clean.

The idea of Kuonji figuring out Natsume and Ruka were at the news conference, where it was being held. Where he should hide to get a couple of shots off the idea of him even owning a rifle that could do the job –

None of it washed.

Hotaru cleaned up the beverage area and found herself staring into a half filled mug of cold coffee, gray and filmed over, seeing a dead Kuonji, an AR-15 and a stash of cocaine next to his body. The cocaine she could believe. A drug overdose. Kuonji dead at twenty nine. All that made sense. But the AR-15? The silencer? Executing the difficult shots to hit Ruka in the gut and even Natsume in the arm?

She dumped the coffee into the trash.

Not a chance.

* * *

Love it? Or Hate it?  
Please don't forget to review so I'll know what you think ;)

And for those who leave reviews on the previews chapter I wanted to say Thank You also for those who followed and added LDWAL on their favorites list... Again Thank You

* * *

Sneak Peek of the next Chapter:

_"Your mistake"_

_"What, are you going to arrest me?"_

_"I might."_

_She didn't seem especially intimidated. "You eat, sleep and drink your work, don't you, Hyuuga-san?"_

_"And you don't, Dr. Sakura?"_

_"My work doesn't involve guns and bad guys."_

_"Precisely why you're going home."_

* * *

Oh. and I wanted to say Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there especially to my mom.

Don't forget to greet your mom too, okay?... :)

Till the next chapter...  
~claire-chan143


	13. Chapter 10

Here's chapter 10  
Enjoy! :)

* * *

Ruka looked better and sounded more alert, less hoarse and confused, but he was still tethered to various tubes and monitors. He gave Natsume a weak grin. "I can't believe Mikan followed you. God. What was she thinking?"

"She wasn't thinking." Natsume hadn't ratted Mikan out to his younger colleague – she'd done it herself before Natsume got there. But if he were in Ruka's position, he'd want to know what was going on. Even if he were at death's door, he wouldn't tolerate anyone coddling him. He expected Ruka was of a similar mind. "We can get her a counselor if you'd think that'd help."

"Nah. She's like this. Where did you go?"

"I checked in with someone I know in Spanish Harlem."

It was all he could give Ruka. Natsume had already talked to Kokoro Yome about his with Sister Amanatsu, an ex-nun who'd moved to Japan three years ago. Within a month of her arrival, she contacted Natsume with information that had exonerated a man the Alice was looking for. She'd become a regular informant, but only on her terms, only when she could save someone.

She knew Kuonji, not as a street thug or the confidential informant who'd helped Ruka Nogi take down an Alice Top Fifteen Most Wanted fugitive – Ruka's biggest coup as an agent – but as a young man who was trying to put his life back together. Sister Amanatsu, as she was known on the street, had encouraged him to listen to Ruka and talk to an attorney, pursue entry into WITSEC. But Kuonji couldn't bring himself to fully give up the life he'd known since he was thirteen.

Now he was dead.

Sister Amanatsu insisted he hadn't tried to murder Ruka and Natsume in Central Park. That he couldn't have. She was adamant, and she certainly had nothing to do with her faith in him as a person. She was a realist – she knew Kuonji would have setbacks, would lie, and would disappoint her. He'd done it before. But she was convinced he hadn't committed the sniper attack two days ago because he couldn't. He'd cut a tendon in his right hand a year ago and couldn't pull a trigger, much less manage a sniper rifle.

Kuonji was physically unable to fire an AR-15.

Natsume suggested Koko to make sure the autopsy on Kuonji included a check of his right hand. Not that Yome needed any device – and hell he wasn't thrilled when Natsume refused to tell him his source.

But that was the way it was – he wasn't putting Sister Amanatsu through an FBI interrogation. She worked in her neighborhood and believed in its people, and no matter how many times one or another of them betrayed her trust, she would never betrayed theirs.

The FBI had the wrong man. In her mind, it was that simple.

Expect Kokoro Yome wasn't yet convinced. He had solid witnesses who put Kuonji in the Central Park with an AR-15 at the time of the shooting.

He had the weapon.

He had the silencer.

Koko, in his mild-mannered way, had reminded Natsume that he was supposed to be recuperating, not meddling in an FBI investigation.

Ruka tried to sit up. "I'm supposed to be blowing in that air thing more. For my lungs. Keeps me from getting pneumonia. It wears me out." He sank back against the bad. "Christ. I'm mess."

"Give it a time."

"Kuonji was my guy. Is this going to come back and bite me in ass?"

"I don't know." Natsume didn't bother with niceties, but there was no point in dwelling with Ruka on what he couldn't change. "I think you were right about getting your sister out of here."

"She's pretty, isn't she?"

She was pretty. Very pretty. Natsume had come in contact with her three times in less that twenty-four hours, and he wasn't immune to the feel of that slim body. But talk about mustn't touch. A seriously wounded agent's sister, the president surrogate daughter – an attractive academic who wanted answer to the shooting as much as any of them.

"I'm lowering the boom on her before she does something stupid." Natsume said. "She's upset about you. It's making her reckless."

"Send her back to Kyoto."

Ruka obviously hadn't changed his mind now that he was more lucid. "Why do you want her out of here?"

"Because she does things like follow senior agents."

Ruka, if there's something else, now's the time – "

"My parents," Ruka said weakly. "There're coming?"

"That's what I understand. I don't have the specifics. Ruka –"

"They can take over family duty. Get Mikan out of here. Narumi Anju – that's out, right? That he and my family are friends."

"It's out."

"Mikan can't stay here. At home…." His eyes were half-closed, and he was fading fast, sinking into the bed. "Tell her I'll be there soon. Tell her she can make me a prune cake."

A nurse came over and checked Ruka's IV line, glancing meaningfully at Natsume. He took the hint.

"Take care of yourself, Ruka Don't worry about anything else. I'll look after your sister myself."

He managed a wry smile. "Why am I not reassured?"

* * *

Natsume found Mikan chatting with Hotaru in the waiting room. He thought he heard his name mentioned, and when he walked in, even Hotaru went red.

"Looks like I should have eavesdropped," he said. "What did I miss?"

"Don't mind him," Hotaru to Mikan "You have to pass a jackass test to become an agent."

Natsume pointed at her. "One day, Imai, someone's going to take exception to that mouth of yours."

She gave him a big, phony smile. "Just kidding, Agent Hyuuga." She shifted her attention back to Mikan "I'll see you in a bit."

Mikan made a move to go after her – to escape, Natsume thought – then gave it up and cleared her throat, fixing her hazel eyes on him. "I apologize for following you."

"Apology accepted." He decided not to waste any time on niceties. "Here's the deal. I've talked to Ruka. You're going home in Kyoto. I'm putting you on a plane myself."

She didn't seem surprised and just shook her head at him. "I'm staying here until Ruka's better."

Natsume could feel himself responding to her obstinacy with touch of his own. If they were going to get into a power struggle, he planned to win. Plus, he knew he was right. Ruka was right. The woman needed to get out of the thick things.

"I told him that," She added.

"Your brother wants you out of here. I want you out of here. So guess what? I can pack your bags. Or you can. Make up your mind."

"It's not like I committed a federal offense – "

"Actually, yes, it is. Interference in a federal investigation."

"You're not investigating -" She stopped herself. "Anyway, Hotaru says you had to have known I was following you. You could have stopped me, and you didn't."

Leave it to Hotaru to open her big damn mouth. "Agent Imai is welcome to her opinion."

Mikan tilted her head back, the hazel eyes cool now, intelligent and not particularly apologetic - she didn't regret what she'd done. "I'm not always impulsive."

Natsume didn't give her an inch. "From what I've seen so far, I'll bet you are."

His conversation with Sister Amanatsu about Kuonji death had thrown him. Ruka's certainty that he was the shooter's target, his determination to get his sister out of Tokyo, her friendship with the Prime Minister and Natsume's own growing conviction that Dr. Sakura, with her pretty eyes and brunette hair and her sexy southern accent, was trouble.

It made sense to put her on a plane.

"You don't know anything about me," she said stiffly. "I thought I was following a man who'd gone through a terrible ordeal and had just heard some upsetting news. I wasn't thinking about you as a federal agent.

"Your mistake"

"What, are you going to arrest me?"

"I might."

She didn't seem especially intimidated. "You eat, sleep and drink your work, don't you, Hyuuga-san?"

"And you don't, Dr. Sakura?"

"My work doesn't involve guns and bad guys."

"Precisely why you're going home."

She bristled "I want to see my brother."

"Go ahead."

She walked stiffly out of the room, but Natsume was impressed. He'd done his best to wither her, and she hadn't withered. People far more accustomed to him in a kick-ass mood would have.

He'd have to make sure he didn't touch her again. Catching her when she'd tripped on his feet yesterday, then when she started to go down in the park, this morning when he'd marched her out the door at Sister Amanatsu's – not telling what would happen if he got hold of that slip of a body again.

* * *

Mikan rode up front with her knees pressed together, her hands on her thighs and her eyes straight ahead, making no pretense that she liked one damn thing about being sent home. But it was what Ruka wanted – it seemed to be what he needed – so she was going.

She didn't care what Natsume wanted. His threat to arrest her was a lot of hot air – he wouldn't dare. Like Ruka, he needed a place to put his anxiety over the shooting and Kuonji's death, and it was on her shoulders.

Having reporters shouting questions at her about her relationship with the prime minister as she and Natsume had left the hospital hadn't helped her case, either.

Ruka was fully on board in the conspiracy to get her out of town.

And maybe it did make sense. He was improving at least physically. Their parents would be there soon and could help get him back to Northern Woods to complete his recovery. In the meantime, Mikan would make him a prune cake and fix up the downstairs bedroom for him.

When he got home, she'd take him out on the river in the boat. They'd read books on the porch and drink gin and tonics and catch up with each other. It'd been ages since they'd had a good stretch of time together. She was between projects. She didn't know what to do with herself – she could easily stay in Northern Woods until Ruka was back on his feet.

But she'd made it clear to her brother that she was returning to Northern Woods to put his mind at ease, and for no other reason.

He'd been amused._ "I can just see you toe-to-toe with Natsume, but I'd put money on Natsume. You still care what people think. He doesn't. He's a good guy, but you're not going to win with him."_

She didn't want to win. She just wanted her brother safe and well, and if going home helped him in his recovery, even in small way, then she'd go home.

Natsume negotiated the city traffic with no indication that his injured arm bothered him in the least. "Mad?" he sounded unconcerned.

"Resigned to my fate."

His laugh surprised her. "Is that a touch of the infamous Sakura drama?"

Mikan glanced over at him and saw that his color was off slightly. He had to be in at least some pain. "You've been researching my family?"

"Ten minutes on the Web last night. If all those reporters can do it, so can I. I found some paper you wrote on southern historical archaeology sites."

"Did you read it?"

He gave her a quick, wry smile. "I only had ten minutes." He made a turn to Haneda Airport, impervious to the crush of traffic. "Anyone else in Northern Woods?"

"The property manager. Neighbors, friends. I won't be alone."

"This property manager lives in your house?"

"In a separate cottage."

"Fancy."

She smiled. "My grandmother used to live there. The place is lovely, and it's very special to my family, but I wouldn't say it's fancy."

"My uncle's redecorating the house I grew up in. He did up the half bath like it's a tropical paradise. It's awful."

Mikan laughed in spite of her determination to stay irritated. She didn't want to let him off the hook for pressuring her, threatening her with arrest. "Why don't you go up there to recuperate?"

He turned to her without warning, his eyes almost a blood like from the afternoon light, then shifted his gaze back to the congested traffic ahead of him. "I wasn't seriously injured."

"But the trauma of being shot –"

"I've been shot before."

She didn't push her point further. "The distinction being that the bullet didn't actually hit you."

"I don't need to recuperate."

"You want to find the real sniper before he tries again," she said quietly, without any hint of accusation.

"Everyone does.'

"But you're one of the victims. The FBI and your bosses can't let you intruding – any more than you wanted me following you this morning."

His eyes pinned on the road. "I'm not worried about getting in trouble with the FBI or anyone else."

"In a way, we're in the same position."

"No, we're not."

She decided to abandon that approach. "Does Special Agent Yome believe Kuonji is their man?"

Natsume didn't answer. She started to point out the signs directing them to her gate, but he'd already made the turn.

"I see. Wrong question. You're not going to or you can't tell. If the shooter, whoever it is, actually targeted you and Ruka, he had to know you were going to be at that news conference. You can't just pull off a sniper attack in Central Park without advance planning. Was Kuonji capable of that kind of detailed planning?"

More silence.

"Then the real shooter – the guy who set up Mr. Kuonji – must have known he was one of Ruka's informants, manipulated him somehow because of it, and then killed him when he no longer needed him." Mikan thought a moment. "No one's going to think Ruka slipped up, will they? Blame him because the real shooter found about Kuonji?"

"Mikan, I'm not discussing the investigation with you."

"Why not? I'm about to fly to Kyoto and spend the next few days baking prune cakes and fluffing pillows in anticipation of my brother's arrival. I'm not going to meddle in the FBI's and the Alice's business. Even if I wanted to, how could I?"

Natsume glanced at her. "Time to change the subject."

She wasn't getting anything out of him. "How far did I really get before you were onto me this afternoon?"

"Not an inch. I saw you get saw you get into your cab."

Mikan believed him. She told herself she wasn't surprised and had no reason to be embarrassed, but felt a jolt of heat that, after he parked, prompted her to try to talk him out of escorting her to the gate. "I've got an hour. There's no chance I'm not going to make my flight."

"That's right," he said. "There isn't."

"You know, I'm not a prisoner you're transporting."

"It'd be a hell of a lot easier if you were," he said, getting out of the car.

Mikan decided not to pursue that one.

In spite of the bullet wound in his arm, he insisted on carrying her bag, and bought her bottle of water for her flight. He was a federal officer, and thus allowed to escort her all the way to her gate.

When her flight started to board, she felt a prick of panic at the idea of leaving. "If there's any change in Ruka's condition –"

"I'll let you know myself. I promise."

She had the feeling Natsume was a man who didn't make any promises. "I'll be on the first flight back to Tokyo."

"Understood."

"All right. Fair enough." She straightened, sighing, awkward. "Well. I guess that's it. Take care of yourself, okay, Natsume?"

He gave her that toe curling smile. "Just get on that damn plane."

She blow him a kiss, hoping to throw him off his hard-ass game and assert some control over her situation, but he grinned and winked at her, sending hot sparks right through her.

Just as well she was getting out of town. Another day with him, and they'd be in bed.

The thought propelled her down the jet way.

When she took her seat on the plane, the realization that she was alone hit her. Her throat tightened.

But wasn't this what she used to? Never mind that she'd been all but run out of town on a rail, she was on her own with no one to answer to, no one to rein in her impulses – and no one beside her, she thought with an unexpected rush of emotion. When she got to Northern Woods, she could do as she pleased. Wasn't it the way she liked it?

Whether she liked it or not, it was the way it was.

* * *

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*Me Myself And Bunny  
*nix  
*gabsterela  
*Haruhi-chan131  
*MizuKaze53  
*Pastellen  
*AnimeMango  
*Guest  
*riaanaa

For the nice reviews (chapeter 8&9)...

and

*Octaves  
*darkjewel512  
*decemberlove031210  
*Trepidation Chance  
*IrisCherieHathaway

For following LDWAL

also

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Till next time  
Claire-chan143


	14. Chapter 11

**Warning:** Not a NxM Chapter..

But I hope you still read it :)

* * *

Chapter 11

Shiki Masachika waited until midnight Paris time for the call from Mochu, who should have arrived in Tokyo yesterday afternoon. Shiki was still in the Parisian city, isolated in a suite of rooms in a seventeenth-century gabled house that had been converted into a very small, very private hotel along picturesque Saint-Martin, one of the finest canals in Paris.

He was surrounded by men he paid well to protect him. He had no other relationship with them. Shiki didn't delude himself. They weren't family, they weren't friends.

Even at his chalet in Switzerland, he was isolated, his fugitive status in Japan hanging over him. His international jet-setter neighbors distrusted him. Swiss natives wanted nothing to do with him. He knew about the dubious origins of the fortunes of some people who snubbed him. Tax evasion was least of their fathers and grandfathers had done.

But it was least of what he'd done, too.

Finally the call came. "Ruka Sakura is improving and should make full recovery," Mochu said. "His sister is on her way back to Kyoto."

"The second agent? Hyuuga?"

There was the slightest hesitation. "He could become a problem."

"But the FBI has their shooter, don't they?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Shiki sat forward in his leather chair next to an open window. The low ceiling in the old building made him claustrophobic. The call was secure – the owner of the hotel, who understood his clientele, had the best technical people in Europe regularly sweep for bugs, check with their sources for any attempt to tap the phone lines, legally or otherwise. But, still, Shiki was careful with what he said. "You'll do what needs to be done, won't you?"

"Of course." Mochu had arrived in Tokyo only yesterday but exhibited no sign of jet lag. "I'm in touch with your man here. We're working together on the problem."

"No ties back to me. None." Shiki didn't need to remind Mochu that he had access to his Family – his mother, his wife and his two children. "Is that clear?"

"Very," Mochu said calmly.

"Keep me apprised."

After he hung up, Shiki lit hi pipe and lifted his feet onto a leather ottoman. His dogs, two Rhodesian ridgebacks who always to traveled with him, lay atop a thick Persian carpet. They were his best, most trusted companions. Like him, they had learned discipline, patience.

But they were one of a kind, and they had each other. He had no one.

The wealth he could reveal openly wasn't particularly impressive – it was the wealth concealed that one day he would blend with his legal fortune, which would widen eyes and open doors. Then he could lead the life he'd always imagined for himself. He'd have the woman he wanted, the position, the power, the respect.

By then, Izumi Sakura would have died in his sleep, and Yuka would be free.

She'd need time to mourn, of course, but not that much. She had to know she'd outlive Sakura – she'd had to be preparing herself, even now, for going on without him.

But first, He knew he had to get her help him deal with the fact that he couldn't return to his own country without facing prosecution and the certainty of a prison sentence. Yuka would eventually see that it was unfair. That he'd paid for whatever mistakes he'd made and could offer the world more as a free man.

No, his legal status wasn't first. He tightened his grip on his pipe and controlled a wave of irritation.

Dealing with the situation in Tokyo was first.

He prayed that the Sakura step-siblings hadn't seen him in Paris – that the shooting in Central Park does not involved him and any of his people.

But if they had, if it did, Shiki was prepared to act. Too much was at stake for him not to.

* * *

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Thanks to:

*AnimeMango  
*Me Myself and Bunny  
*Haruhi-chan131

For the reviews and;

*Sarah0203  
*Shinhwa27  
*simply-cheeby

For following and adding LDWL on your favorites list..

Also to my silent/ghost readers...

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IloveYou Guys  
XOXO  
~Claire-chan143


	15. Chapter 12

**Warning:** Not a NxM Chapter  
But I hope You still read it..

* * *

It was dark when two agents dropped Mikan of Northern Woods. Tsubasa waited until she'd reassured them she was fine there on her own and their car had pulled out of the long, curving driveway. Then he knocked on her kitchen door.

Mikan opened it, looking drawn and tired, but she attempted a smile. "Hey, Tsubasa-sempai."

He adopted his stereotypical good ol' boy demeanor. "I didn't expect you home so soon, Mikan-chan."

"Ruka and his agent buddies basically kicked me out. A classic case of projection. Really they're worried about themselves and their own safety, but instead they say they're worried about me."

Tsubasa doubted it was projection – the Alice Agents probably had damn good reason to worry about her. She was an attractive academic with no experience in law enforcement and sniper attacks. In their position, he wouldn't want her underfoot, either.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm going to take a bath and go to bed. Thanks. Tomorrow – I don't know." Her eyes brightened for all of half second. "I might just go fishing."

"I didn't know you like to fish, Mikan-chan."

"I don't particularly, but it's better than sitting around here worrying about Ruka and feeling sorry for myself."

Tsubasa smiled and managed to shuffle his feet. "I know it's a hard time for you. The neighbors stopped by to give their regards. Mr. Mouri, Miss Miyazono, Mr. and Mrs. Yakumo. They wanted to bring casseroles and flowers, but I told them I didn't know when you'd come back."

"That's sweet of them." She seemed to take pleasure in the concern of her neighbors. "I'd love to have a few more casseroles in the freezer for when Ruka gets here. He's coming down to recuperate as soon as his doctors allow him to travel. What about reporters?"

"A few. I let them pound on the door, then came out and looked scary when they started peeking in the windows."

That brought on a genuine smile. "Good thinking."

He left her in the big empty house, the ground soft under his feet as he walked back to his cottage. He could smell the wetness of the river; hear it lapping the limestone along its banks. The stars and half moon created enough light for the trees to cast dark, wavering shadows. He hadn't grown up near water and trees.

He opened up all the cottage windows. The curtains fluttered in a cool breeze. Quickly, routinely, he checked his weapons. He had two Browning single-action 9 mm semiautomatics, as well as the Smith & Wesson .38 semiautomatic he used as an ankle gun.

The two wounded Alice agents in Tokyo. The archaeologist sister. The elderly statesman and his younger wife in Paris.

The Prime Minister of Japan.

Misaki Andou, murdered army captain.

Tsubasa couldn't see how they fit together. Maybe they didn't. Maybe only some did. But he'd never been a big plotter, one to agonize over every why and wherefore. Establish the mission, and then accomplish it. He figured if he got in these people's faces, something would start clicking.

In the meantime, he had nothing solid to take to FBI, the Alice Agency, and The Secret Service, army investigators, the French police or anyone else.

Not that he would go to any of them when he did.

He wanted Misaki's killer all to himself.

* * *

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Till next time..  
XOXO  
~Claire-chan143


	16. Chapter 13

Heres Chapter 13  
Enjoy :)

* * *

A fine mist rose off the river, sparkling in the early morning sun that would burn it off within the hour. Mikan had walked down the dock and up along the riverbank to the edge of the fields, aware of the tightness in her muscles after so many hours of worry, fear and tension. But she felt less conflicted about being back in Northern Woods, less guilty for leaving her brother. It was what he wanted. He had friends, colleagues – armed guards – who'd look after him.

And she was home, away from guns, the investigation, the angry and concerned federal agents.

When she returned to the house, she put on water for hot tea and settled at the round oak kitchen table, piled with mail Tsubasa must have brought in while she was in Tokyo. She flipped through it, hoping for a good catalogue to occupy her while she drank her tea. There were cards and notes from well-wishers most were people she knew, but some were strangers who'd heard that her brother had been shot and wanted his family to know they were thinking him.

She made her tea and read the cards and letters one by one, appreciating the good thoughts from friends and stranger alike. _I know I haven't seen you in several years, but I had to write…_

"Nice," she said aloud, lifting a larger envelope off the pile.

No return address. Tokyo postmark. One of Ruka's associates?

She opened it and unfolded the single white eight-and-a-half-by-eleven paper inside. Several lines were centered on the page in large, bold, computer-printed italics.

A poem, she thought.

No.

The first word registered.

**_If I can get to your brother, I can get you._**

Unable to breathe, Mikan shoved her chair back, its leg screeching on the wood floor. She lurched to her feet.

The paper fluttered in a breeze from the open window, the words plainly visible in at least twenty-eight-point italic type, glaring up at her.

**_If I can get to your brother, I can get to you._**

**_Do nothing. Tell no one._**

**_The Alice Agents, the FBI, your local sheriff._**

**_Your parents in Paris._**

**_I'll know if you talk._**

**_Wait._**

She was aware of herself gulping in air without expelling any. Aware of her tea mug teetering on the edge of the table, of her hand holding onto the back of the old oak chair. It was as if she was looking down at herself. She couldn't make herself stop.

What was going on? Was someone trying to take advantage of her situation for their own jollies, to terrify her, to get attention – to _what?_

Was it a serious, credible threat?

From the shooter?

From someone else?

She didn't dare touch the offending letter again for her fear of further contaminating any forensic evidence it might contain. The envelope was front down on the table. Was the address printed, or handwritten? She couldn't remember.

But what difference did it make? She wasn't an investigator, or a handwriting analyst.

She picked up her mug, careful not to spill tea all over the letter, and staged to the kitchen counter with it and set it down. She grabbed the old telephone, immediately dialing her parents' number in Paris. She had it memorized, just as well because she doubted she'd have been able to look it up. Her hands were shaking, her head spinning – she remembered Natsume ordering her to hold her breath in the park. She'd been hyperventilating. That was what she was doing now.

She didn't want to pass out.

She held her breath, but somehow, it made her want to cry.

Her mother answered.

"Hi – it's me." Mikan winced at the sound of her voice. She felt as if she were back in school, calling and pretending all was well she was homesick, exhausted, anxious, and miserable. "I just wanted to check in. I made it back to Northern Woods okay. I haven't talked to Ruka yet this morning. It's still early. How're you and Otou-san."

"We're hanging in there." Her mother's voice sounded almost as strained as her own. But that was to be expected under the circumstances – it didn't mean she'd received an anonymous letter of her own.

"Were making plans to leave for Tokyo, I hope tomorrow. I can't – neither of us can stand not seeing Ruka another day."

"Is anyone there with you?"

"Not right now. The Alice agency sent someone over yesterday to check on us." Her mother hesitated. "Mikan? What's wrong?"

She sank against the counter. She was still shaking, but she had her breathing under reasonable control.

"Why don't you let the Alice take care of you? Two agents met me at the airport when I got back last night and drove me home. It was a big comfort."

"You're spooked, aren't you? Being home alone after what happened to Ruka. Well, I don't blame you. Frankly, I think you'd have been better off staying in Tokyo. I don't care what Ruka says."

"I'll be okay. I just –"

"Call one of your cousins or Uncle." The Azumi were in Nantan.

"You have enough family and friends in the Area that you don't need to be alone."

It sounds like a good advice, but Mikan had no intention of dragging anyone else into her mess.

She couldn't tell her mother about the not. She'd mean to, maybe, but now realized she couldn't. Her mother was safe and there was nothing she could do from Paris. Whoever had sent her the letter could have her phone tapped, her house bugged.

_I'll know if you talk._

How? Was it an idle threat, design to frighten her?

"I'll be alright," she said. "It's been a stressful this past few, but at least Ruka's doing well."

"Well get him down to Northern Woods. This'll be behind us in time." Her mother took in an audible breath. "Mikan, are you sure you're all right?"

She reassured her mother and quickly said goodbye.

The note continued to flutter in breeze, and she half wished it'd blow out a window and into the river, except the windows all had screens and river was in the other direction.

_God._

She spotted Natsume Hyuuga's card on the counter. She'd found it in her pocketbook last night before she went to bed and assumed he must have tucked it in there when she wasn't looking. He'd scrawled his home number on the back.

She'd thought about him for most of her flights to Kyoto. Most of the night. He was good-looking, sexy, hard-edge, impatient and impossible to figure out, at least in the couple of days she'd known him – and yet she couldn't deny she was attracted to him. It was crazy. Had to be adrenaline.

She splash her face with cold water at the kitchen sink and, without considering the pros and cons, dialed his home number.

What time was it? She glanced at the stove clock. Six-fifteen. Still early, possibly even by Agent Hyuuga standards.

He answered on the second ring. "Hyuuga."

Mikan took a calming breath. Though he was at home, he sounded s if he was on duty. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't tell him. What if the note was for real and the person who wrote it did have her phones tapped, her house bugged? Or Natsume's phones, his apartment?

What if she talked and ended up getting someone killed because of it?

"Mikan? What's going on?"

"I knew you'd have caller ID." She faltering laugh. "Paranoid agent. I'm home, safe and sound. I wanted to let you know." She didn't sound believable even to herself. "It's early, I realize, but you strike me as the crack-of-dawn type."

"You sound like you're coming undone."

"Do I?" She tried another laugh, but it only seemed to make her sound even nuttier.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Have a good day. Sorry if I woke you."

She slammed down the phone and took it apart, then charged into the living room and took apart that phone, and finally ran upstairs and took apart that one.

She didn't find anything that looked like a phone tap, not that she knew what she was looking for.

"You're insane," she said aloud. "Just drive to the police station and hand them the stupid letter."

There. A plan.

What if she was being followed?

What if Tsubasa Andou had sent her the letter?

_From Tokyo?_

Okay, so that didn't make sense. But the point was – did she dare risk telling someone, anyone? Did she dare risk _not_ telling someone?

At least her parents were safe in Paris, and her brother had his armed guards in Tokyo.

She put the phones back together and made more hot tea, calming down as she sipped it and stared at the note, as if it might make better sense to her now that she'd gotten over the initial shock of it.

**_If I can get to your brother, I can get to you._**

Special Agent Collins would definitely want a look at this little missive. The FBI had profilers, hand-writing analysts, finger printers, paper analysts and ink analyst. They'd figure out if it was for real or just some jerk getting off her expense.

Feeling more in control of herself, Mikan opened the rest of the mail and discovered two obvious crank notes. One was from a woman who wanted a lock of Ruka's hair so she could make psychic contact with the sniper – obviously she was not a legitimate psychic. The other was from a man who claimed Ruka and Natsume had lived only because God was giving them a second chance to renounce their sinning ways.

In that context, the anonymous note from Tokyo maybe _wasn't_ for real. The shooting had received maximum news coverage. It had brought out a few nuts, and the writer of the offending note could be just another one of them, someone who wanted to frighten and get everyone stirred up but who wouldn't act on his threats.

Her phone rang, starling her. Her mind leaped in a dozen different directions, but she composed herself enough to answer in reasonably calm voice on the third ring. "Sakura."

"I'm on a midmorning flight to Kyoto," Natsume said. "Stay put."

He hung up before she could say a word.

Midmorning his time. A sixty-minute flight would put him in Kyoto before noon. Northern Woods twenty to thirty minutes later. He hadn't asked her to pick him up at the airport. For all she knew, he'd get a ride from another agent.

Ruka would tell her she was on a need-to-know basis and should learn to live with it.

Blowing out a lungful of air. Mikan got a pair of dented aluminum tongs from a drawer and shoved the offending note and its envelope to the bottom of the pile of mail. When Natsume arrived she'd show it to him.

Problem solved. He was the law enforcement professional. He could help her figure out what to do.

He'd be on his way to Tokyo by tonight.

In the meantime, she'd make her prune cake.

* * *

Love it? or Not?

Please Review so I'll know what you think.. all of your opinion(s) are welcome :)

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Till the next chapter ;)  
XOXO  
~Claire-chan143


	17. Chapter 14

Here's chapter 14  
Enjoy :)

* * *

Natsume bought a map at the Kyoto air port and drove his Black Ferrari F430 spider north until he came to Northern Woods, basically a wide-bend on the Cumberland River. It wasn't even a town, really. He pulled into a gas station and started to call Mikan for directions to her house, but there was no cell service. Before using a payphone, he asked inside.

"I thought Mikan was still in Scotland," the bubblegum haired lady at the cash registers said. "I've been telling the reporters that. She and Ruka used to like to come in here and but red licorice. I told them it'd rot their teeth." She eyed Natsume suspiciously. "Why should I tell you where they live?"

Natsume was in no mood to screw around and showed the woman his badge.

Directions involved a cornfield, a country church and a back road he wasn't supposed to take and one he was.

The back road brought him down toward the deep, slow river, and he turned left, as the old man had instructed, onto a long driveway that led to a log house nestled among shade trees and gardens, its sprawling lawn ending at a dock on the riverfront. On one side of the property were more fields, on the other, thick woods that seemed to go on forever. Spring was further along in Middle of Kyoto than in Tokyo, the leaves full and dark, a huge oink azalea growing close to the house, a tangle of white roses creeping up one side of the front porch.

Natsume parked behind an old pickup with Kyoto plates and climbed out of his car. He could smell freshly mowed grass tinged with the sweetness of flowers and heard a small boat puttering on the river.

In the side yard, a mid-night haired man in overalls stabbed a pitchfork into a pile of compost and dumped it onto a plowed vegetable garden. One end had sprouts growing – spinach, onions, loose-leaf lettuce. The man shooed a horsefly with one hand. "Can I help you, sir?" he called to him.

Natsume walked down to the garden. "I'm looking for Mikan Sakura."

"And you would be?"

"Alice Agent Natsume Hyuuga. I work with her brother."

The man – presumably the property manager Mikan had mentioned. Sweat dripped down his face nonetheless. "You're the other agent, who was shot with him, aren't you? Doing okay, sir?"

"Yes, thanks, and you're –"

"Andou, Tsubasa Andou." He grinned amiably, not breathing that hard from his work. "Chief manure spreader. Composted or not, horse manure stinks, don't it? I take care of the place."

Natsume noticed a black star tattoo on his upper left cheek below the eye. He had on a dirty T-shirt under the overalls. By contrast, Natsume had put on a suit for his travels south. His bandage arm had given him some discomfort on the flight, but he'd taken a couple of Tylenol when he landed.

"Mikan-chan's in the house," Tsubasa said. "Is she expecting you? She's got company."

Natsume didn't like the idea of her having company not after her early-morning phone call. She'd tried to hide her stress and fear, but they were obvious, He nodded to Tsubasa. "Yes, she's expecting me."

He left Tsubasa to his manure spreading and took half gravel, half stone path to the back steps. It seemed more like the main entrance than the one on the porch that faced the river. Thought a screen door, he could hear Mikan talking to a man with a pronounced southern accent.

They were discussing prune cake recipes.

"My granny always made a three-layer prune cake," the man said. "She insisted it was best the next day, after the flavors had time to settle and blend."

Mikan laughed, but Natsume could hear a lingering strain in her voice. He wondered if the guy with her noticed. "I like prune cake anytime, anywhere, provided it's not hard as a rock."

Natsume peered through the screen door. Mikan's visitor was sitting at a round table. He looked to be a year or two older than him, red hair and regular features. He wore a polo shirt, khakis and penny loafers. Mikan was at the counter in a flour covered pink apron.

She spotted him, her eyes connecting with his, widening, and Natsume knew that whatever had promoted her to call him in a panic was still a factor. He wasn't going to have prune cake and coffee and turn around and head back to Tokyo. Something was up.

The man at the table leaped to his feet. "Mikan?"

"It's okay," she said quickly, moving toward the screen door.

Natsume pulled it open. "How are you Mikan?"

"I didn't hear your car –" She smiled nervously. "Reo and I have been busy talking about prune cake recipes. Here, come in. Reo, this is Natsume Hyuuga, one of Ruka's colleagues from Tokyo. Natsume, Reo Mouri, a journalist and temporary neighbor."

Reo put out a hand, and then pulled it back. "Sorry, sir. I forgot you were hit the other day. The arm, right?"

"It's fine. Why are you a temporary neighbor?"

The man seemed taken aback by Natsume's directness, but he recovered and smiled. "I'm renting a cabin upriver a piece while I work on a book."

"He's working on an unauthorized biography of Minister Anju," Mikan said neutrally, then stepped from behind the counter. "Thanks for stopping by, Reo. Come back anytime for your slice of prune cake."

He lifted a lightweight jacket off the back of a chair. "I'll see you later, Mikan, Agent, very nice to meet you. I'm sorry about what happened."

He slipped out the back door.

Natsume glanced around the country kitchen and its squared-off log walls with thick layers of white caulking between them. The oak table and chairs were worn and cracked with age, the simple linoleum floor spotless, the cabinets and countertops timeless and functional. A cross-stitched sampler about friendship hung above the table.

The window next to the table looked out on the side yard with its azaleas and vegetable garden. Tsubasa Andou had abandoned his pile of horse manure.

The place was more isolated than Natsume has expected.

"Whose truck?" he asked.

"The family's. Tsubasa-sempai uses it, too. Reo walked down from fishing camp where he's staying." Mikan returned to her mixing bowl and cutting board of what presumably were chopped prunes and lifted it into her mixing bowl.

"I met you're gardener. He almost stuck me with his pitchfork. Reo's a buff guy, too." Natsume settled on a stool across from her at the counter, noticed the slight tremble in her hands. "How come you don't have any scrawny old guys hanging around you?"

"Reo runs to keep in shape – apparently he has a grueling deadline for his book. I met him last fall when he was still deciding if he wanted to take on the project. He wants to interview me, but I keep putting him off."

"By bringing up prune cake recipes?"

"Watch, he'll find some way to use it in his book." She picked up a wood-handled spatula and folded the prunes in the brownish batter. "And Tsubasa-sempai's the nicest guy. Anyway, a pitchfork's no match for whatever you're carrying."

Which Natsume had no intention of discussing with her. She lifted her bowl and started spooning the thick batter into one of the square pans she had set out on the counter. She took a breath, setting down the bowl quickly, as if she'd been about to drop it. The tremble in her hands was noticeably worse.

She avoids his eyes and spoke as she stared down at her cake batter. "You didn't have to come here. I should have stopped you. I'm sorry you've wasted your time." She picked up her bowl again, stubbornly folding batter into another pan. "I'm not in any danger here."

Natsume didn't respond. She set down the bowl once more, batter spilling down sides, then tore open the oven door and shoved the pans inside. She turned on the timer with more force necessary.

"I need air," she said, pulling off her apron and tossing it onto the counter.

She moved down a hall toward the front of the house, at a fast walk at first, then a run. Natsume could hear her footsteps on the wood floor. He eased off the stool and followed her out to the porch, over furnished with old rockers and chairs, even an iron daybed.

Mikan had made it down the steps and was well on her way to the river and the small, well-kept dock.

He wondered if she'd run right into the water and try to swim away from whatever was bothering her. It wasn't him. Or not just him. He was a reminder, tangible evidence that she wasn't just home on vacation. That was an illusion, a ruse that had helped get her through the morning.

She stopped at the very end of the dock.

Natsume walked out to her. An ancient fishing boat bobbed in the dark water. He felt urge to grab her and jump in the boat, go wherever the river took them and forget about the shooting and whatever had frighten her. In an image that felt real, that rocked him to point his knees almost buckled. He saw them stopped at a quite clearing, a blanket spread, the sun on them as they made love. It was as if her body was under him now, soft and yielding, their lovemaking tender, slow, as if they didn't care about the world. (A/N: Not my Idea…)

_Christ. _What the hell is wrong with him?

Mikan glanced back at him. She was on jeans and lightweight zip-up top. "How's your arm?"

The air seemed cooler, damper, on the river. His arm ached. His whole body ached. "Doctor re-bandaged it this morning before I left. It's healing well. Doesn't bother me that much." He glanced at the undergrowth and the rocks along the riverbank, upriver, toward the Anju House. "You swim in the river?"

"All the time. The Corps of Engineer dams backed up the river so that it's wider and deeper here than it used to be. It's more like a lake nowadays, so the current's not bad."

He shifted back to her. "Snakes?"

"Oh, sure but they leave us alone. Sometimes you can see a Japanese Keelback sunning on the rocks. There non-poisonous." She looked back at him, her words almost rote. "People often confuse them with water snakes that are poisonous."

Natsume decided to let her talked about snakes and prune cake, until she clam enough to tell him what was going on, why she'd called him at six in the morning – why she hadn't called him again and dissuade him from coming down here. "You can tell the difference?"

She nodded. "Japanese Keelback swims on top of the water with their heads above the surface –water snakes tend to swim under the water. A Japanese Keelback will stand its ground."

Like her, Natsume thought. Like her brother. Even in short time they'd worked together, Natsume had done enough arrest with Ruka to know he didn't like to back down. "Ever run into a Japanese Keelback?"

"All the time. Ruka and I used to catch them when we were kids, but Ojii-san told us to leave them alone. None of the snakes will bother you if you don't bother them. It's when they're startled or feels threatened that they bite."

He smiled. "I'll try not to startle or threaten any snakes."

She didn't smile back, seems barely aware that he'd spoken. She just stared into the water, as if she were looking for snakes. "Thank you for coming down here. It was a decent thing to do. I know I must have sounded awful on the phone this morning. I'm sure I overreacted to something."

"Tell me about it."

She shook her head. "I have to show you."

But she didn't want to show him. Natsume could see reluctance in her body language. Tight, closed, afraid. Showing him meant that the "something" that had prompted her to call him was real.

She dropped her arms to her sides and pushed past him with sudden energy, almost knocking him into the river.

He followed her back to the house, into a country-style living room with quilts and afghans in odd colors piled onto overstuffed furniture and shelves bearing an eclectic collection of books, including scholarly works and what had to be every mystery Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie had ever written.

"Wait her," she said, her tone more tired than commanding, and retreated back to the kitchen.

Natsume debated going after her, but decided to do as she'd asked. He stood in front of the stone fireplace, noting a wedding picture on the mantel. The parents, Izumi and Yuka Sakura. He was handsome, she was beautiful – startling beautiful. And obviously much younger.

Mikan returned with an envelope and sheet of paper that she lay on the marble-topped coffee table. "Here, I've already touched them, so they have my fingerprints on them."

Natsume took in the words in a single glance.

**_If I can get to your brother, I can get to you._**

"Jesus Christ," he said under his breath.

She seemed almost relieved at his reaction. "I didn't know what to do. It was in with a bunch of cards and letters, some of them kind of nutty." She sank onto a chair and took a breath. "It's amazing what some people will stoop to. I don't want to take any chances, but I don't want to send you all on a wild-goose chase, either."

"This was in your mail?"

"Tsubasa-sempai piled it on the kitchen table, unopened. It was here when I arrived. I opened it this morning." She leaned forward and stared at the paper, her cheeks pale, but she seemed calmer now that she'd told him about it. "After O called you, I checked all the phones for bugs. I don't even know what one looks like, and I imagine there are ways for someone to tap a phone line that I'd never find."

"I couldn't make myself tell you on the phone, I was really spooked. I let my thinking run wild."

She was upset, uncertain, a capable, intelligent woman not used to being out of her element – not used to having to trust someone, count on someone, besides herself.

But Natsume knew there was more. Something else.

She twisted her hands together, working one of her delicate ring up to her knuckle, then back down again. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"None of us does."

"Ruka, my parents. If something happens to them because of something I did or didn't do…" She trailed off, not finishing.

"Your parents are still in Paris."

She nodded, taking a small breath. "I know. I called them, too. I didn't tell them about the note." She stopped abruptly and lifted her eyes to him. "I don't like being afraid, you know."

Natsume sat on the edge of the couch and folded his hands. His head ached now, too. But his thinking was clear, sharp. After he'd left her last night, he'd thought about finding her collapsing in Central Park – thought her body language and how similar it was to when he'd caught her following him to Sister Amanatsu's.

Mikan Sakura wasn't a bad liar. But she wasn't a good one, either.

"What happened in Central Park?" he asked her.

She almost slid off her chair. "What Ruka –" She took a breath. "You know what happened. You were there. It's where you and Ruka were shot."

"To you? What happened to you in Central Park? Why did you almost pass out?" He settled back on the couch. "Don't dare lie to lie. It won't work."

"Nothing happened, at least, nothing that relates to the note."

"Mikan, you're a smart woman. I'm sure you're a hell of an archaeologist, not that I'd be able to judge. It's not my area of expertise, like law enforcement isn't yours."

She was silent, still twisting her ring.

"You're feeling isolated," he said, "and you don't need to."

"I don't want to send you all of on some wild-goose chase. If I tell you what happened, which was nothing, you'll investigate." She shook her head. "No, it's crazy."

"Guess what, Dr. Sakura. You don't get to decide."

That brought her up short. "All right. Fair enough. I'll let that be your job."

He smiled, trying to take some edge off his demeanor. But his arm hurt, and he still had an image of them on the blanket. "That _is_ my job."

She didn't relax. "I saw a man I thought I recognized. He was up on the street, on Central Town, looking down into the park."

"Recognized him from where?"

She hesitated. "Paris."

_Hell._

Natsume didn't speak. He wanted her to do the talking.

"I'm sure it was just my mind playing tricks on me. He reminded me of a man I saw at the Musée du Louvre. We were all there – my parents, Ruka, me." Mikan jumped abruptly, turning away from him and gazing out a window onto the porch down to the river. "I was on my own. Waiting at the Delftware. It's a huge museum – we limited ourselves to the Italian collection."

"Where was your step-mother?"

"Viewing Paolo Veronese's, The Wedding Feast at Cana. It's an incredible painting. I was in an adjoining gallery. I don't remember what I was looking at. Earlier Italian works, I believe. This man approached me, and we chatted for a minute or two about the paintings, the museum. He was friendly. Japanese, I think. My parents know so many people; I assumed it was one of their friends or acquaintances."

"Did you ask them about him?"

"No. It didn't occur to me. It's not as if he said outright that he knew them."

"Describe him."

She didn't hesitate. "About six feet tall, angular features, dark hair. Natsume, he can't be the same man as the one I saw at the park. It'd been a long stressful day. I couldn't swear –"

"What was he wearing?"

"Black leather jacket and black turtleneck. So was the man at the park. That must be what made me think I recognized him."

"Ruka didn't see the man who approached you at the museum?"

"I don't know how he could have."

She turned from the window, her arms crossed on her chest, a way, Natsume thought, for her to keep him from seeing her hands shaking. She was a woman accustomed to staying in control. She wouldn't want him to see just how the events of the past few days had rocked her. "You're going to tell Agent Yome, aren't you?" Her tone was cool now almost resigned. "About both the letter and the man in the park."

"Damn straight."

She nodded and let her arms drop to her side. No shaking hands now. "I wasn't holding back on you. I was convinced – I _am_ convinced that man isn't the same man I ran into the museum. Even if it is, so what? It doesn't mean he had anything to do with the shooting. It could just be one of those weird coincidences. If I hadn't gotten the letter…" She didn't finish.

"We'll get to the bottom of whatever's going on."

"Maybe it's nothing." She tried to smile. "I should show you my letter from the psychic."

Natsume got his feet, feeling the silence of the place; the isolation on this quiet stretch of river, Obviously Ruka hadn't expected his sister to come home to a threatening letter.

It was postmarked the day of the shooting. Whoever sent it hadn't wasted time.

"What goes on prune cake?" Natsume asked. Mikan seemed to have no idea what he was talking about. "What?"

"Frosting." He wanted her out of her spinning thoughts, just as his uncle had done with him with his talk of his orange eggs. "Does it have a frosting, or do you eat it plain like gingerbread?"

"It has a caramel glaze. You put it on when the cake's still warm."

He could hear the southern roots in her words, a soft lilt that seemed to match the breeze off the river.

"You can probably finish making it before the FBI gets here. I'll call Koko in Tokyo and find out what he wants to do."

She nodded, her breathing shallow, and then started for kitchen. She paused in the hall doorway and glanced back at him. "I'm glad you're here." Then a quick smile, a welcome flash in her eyes. "I think."

Natsume glanced at the note.

**_I'll know if you talk._**

**_Wait._**

She'd waited – she waited to tell him.

Everyone assumed the answers to the sniper attack were in Tokyo, embedded somewhere in what he and Ruka did for living. Natsume was no longer so sure. He had a feeling they could be here, in Northern Woods, in the lives of a well-known, progressive family who happened to be friends and neighbors to the Prime Minister of Japan.

He dreaded making call to Koko in Tokyo.

And Ruka – what to tell him about his sister's letter?

Nothing, Natsume decided. At least not until he knew more.

He could smell the prune cake baking, filling the house with warmth. And the scent of cinnamon. Cozy, homey smells. She'd imposed normalcy onto herself as a way to cope. He pictured Mikan racing around that morning, pulling apart phones, trying to talk herself into believing the note didn't mean anything, that she'd been right about the man in Central Park, after all, and he was no one.

Maybe she had a point. Maybe the wide coverage of the shooting and something about the Sakuras themselves had brought out the head cases.

But Natsume didn't think so.

* * *

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Till the next chapter ;)  
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~Claire-chan143


	18. Chapter 15

Here's Chapter 15

Sorry for the delayed update...  
Please Enjoy! :)

* * *

It was late afternoon before all the federal law enforcement types left – except for Natsume. He obviously had no immediate plans to go anywhere. Mikan retreated to the kitchen and made the caramel glaze for the prune cake, pouring it between the layers and on the top while it was still hot. She hadn't had time to really cook in months. Now it helped her control her racing thoughts, center her as she consider her options. And the old-fashioned southern recipes helped her feel more rooted and less isolated, as if she could draw her grandmother's strength.

She'd taken the FBI agents, the Alice agents and the guy who probably Secret Service but never said so through her house, answered all their questions and offered them iced sweet tea punch, which they'd refused. She held her temper and her tears and nerves.

She thought she'd done all right, but now, in the immediate aftermath of their search, she wished she'd simply thrown the note into the garbage.

The agents had whisked it away.

They'd told her nothing. No theories, no assessments, and no hints of what they thought of the anonymous note.

Natsume had kept his distance. After the last car pulled out of the driveway, he drifted out to the front porch. Mikan had a feeling he wasn't going to be on an evening flight back to Tokyo.

She didn't know what to do with him besides on feeding him prune cake.

She set it cool on a pink Depression-glass plate and washed her hands, then dialed the hospital.

Her brother was awake. He could talk to her.

"Koko just left here," he said, sounding tired but agitated. "Christ, Mikan. What the hell's going on?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just going off the deep end."

"The letter's for real." He took in what sounded like a painful breath. "You didn't make it up. The guy in Paris – I'm no help. I didn't see him. I'm still fogged in from the meds, but I'd remember."

"It was probably just a regular guy in Paris and a regular guy in Tokyo and all the adrenaline –" She sighed, sinking against the counter.

"Ruka, it's been awful these past few days. I haven't been at the top of my game. I didn't get a close enough look at the man in the park to be positive it was the same guy. If I hadn't gotten a letter, I'd never have mentioned him. Part of me still wishes I hadn't."

"I'm sorry, Mikan. If I hadn't got shot –"

"Don't go there."

"Why don't you go back to Scotland for a week or so? Hang out with your friends. But me a kilt."

She shook her head as if he could see her. "I can't. Not now. Ruka –"

"I don't remember the shooting. I don't even remember calling you. I just remember hoping Natsume wouldn't die because of me."

"Maybe you were dreaming on the operating table."

"No, Mikan. I was the shooter's target."

"But why? Because of your work." She hesitated, focusing on the old kitchen, every corner of it familiar to her, although she hadn't lived here in years. "Or because you're a Sakura now?"

"You're right. Crazy, maybe, but not dangerous." She could feel the weight of his depression, his fear that he was responsible for what was happening – and his disgust with his inability to do anything about it.

"I've been thinking. What if all this has nothing to do with you? What if I picked up an enemy in Scotland? Maybe the guy in Paris and in the Central Park was following me."

"Come on, Mikan. You don't have enemies. Maybe the ghost of some bones you dug up haunt you, but otherwise – no way."

She'd known her theory would perk him up. "I don't deal much in bones."

"I'm fading," he said. "Nurses had me up today. God, I'm weak. I thought you'd be better off in Northern Woods. Out of the fray. Now, I don't know. Natsume… make sure he knows you're tougher than you look."

"There's still time for him to fly back to New York tonight."

"Dream on, Hang in there, okay?"

"You too."

The kitchen seemed quiet and still after she hung up. She cut the prune cake in two chunks and wrapped half, carefully placing it in the freezer in anticipation of Ruka's return home, and then headed out through the back door. She was restless, her head spinning.

She found herself on the narrow trail to the house of Anju. It wound along the river, on the edge of the woods of cherry blossom and cedar trees, limestone pits and small caves. A route she'd taken of hundreds of times since she was a child.

Within five steps, Natsume fell behind her.

Mikan almost smiled. "I knew I wouldn't get far without you."

"Ruka's right. You are tougher than you look." His words registered, and she whipped around at him, furious. "You eavesdropped on my conversation with my brother?"

"Picked up the extension on the porch. Piece of cake."

"_Damn _it, don't I have a privacy?"

"Not when the same guy who shot me could be after you."

"No one's after me," she said, picking up her pace, pushing aside low tree branches on the damp path. The river oozed below her on her left. The path would take her higher, onto impressive limestone bluffs.

"I didn't listen to the entire conversation. That helps?"

"Not particularly."

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"_I'm_ going for a walk."

And without any warning – without even breathing – he caught one arm around her waist and drew her to him.

She gulped in a breath. "What are you doing?"

"I'm thinking about kissing you. I've been thinking about it for a couple of days."

"You've only known me for a couple of days now."

"Plenty long enough to think about kissing you."

His lips found hers, and she didn't resist, didn't even consider it – shut her eyes and felt the softness of his lips, the coolness of the breeze against her bare arm. She remembered his injured arm and grabbed the other one instead, holding him tightly as his mouth opened to hers, his arm dropping lower, drawing her more firmly against him. He was all hard muscle and bone, not an easy man, not the sort she'd ever imagined herself wanting to kiss. Well, wanting to, maybe. He was sexy, the kind of sexy she'd been taught to resist. Didn't _need_ to be taught to resist.

Only when he set her down did she realize he'd lifted her off her feet.

She cleared her throat and ran her fingers through her hair. "Well. I guess that excuses you for eavesdropping."

"I'll remember that."

"We should head back. You have time to make an evening flight –"

"I checked out the upstairs while you were frosting the prune cake. I think I'll take the blue room." He mentioned up the path with one hand. "Lead the way."

"I had a feeling I wasn't getting rid of you tonight. We used to get bats in the blue room."

He grinned at her. "I'm not afraid of bats."

"You've got flour on your jacket." She brushed at the spot with her fingertips. "That would never do for an agent, would it? Against all your dress codes, I imagine. Did I hurt your arm?"

His eyes went very dark, smoldering dark. "Mikan…"

She caught her breath. "Yes. I should lead the way."

The Anju house was a Japanese House revival set on three acres of yard and gardens high on a bluff above the river. Natsume remembered seeing pictures of it when Narumi Anju was campaigning. On the walk over, along the river, Mikan had explained that the house was a state and national historic site, not only because of her being friends with the Prime Minister, but because of its own unique history and near pristine condition.

"It represents almost a hundred and fifty years of Kyoto history," she said. "Himemiya and Shizune Anju made very few improvements in it over the years. There's still no central heat and only cold running water."

"Minister Anju's a wealthy man –"

"It wasn't about money. Himemiya and Shizune didn't embrace change."

Natsume followed her onto a stone path that led through the overgrown grass to the porch. "I like my water hot."

"They had hot water. They just had to boil it."

"Narumi didn't have a typical baby boomer upbringing, did he?"

"He was born during the war, so technically he's not a boomer."

Mikan trotted up the steps onto the porch, more at ease than Natsume had seen her since he'd arrived in Northern Woods. It wasn't just being on familiar turf – it was having told someone else about the letter, calling the bluff of the asshole who'd written it. He joined her on the porch, feeling as if he'd just stepped back in time.

"When I was growing up," she went on, "I'd sneak up here every chance I got and sit out on the porch and listen to Himemiya and Shizune tell stories. When I was in high school, I started videotaping them."

"Did you include some of the footage in your documentary?"

She nodded. "They're incredible, so natural and real. Every story is priceless, whether it's something ordinary like picking blackberries and going to church supper, or something melodramatic, like finding out my grandfathers dead. They were elderly by the time I was a teenager, but they had such vivid memories. Their stories helped me get t know them as children and teenagers themselves, as young women." She gazed out at the knee-high grass and weeds popping up through the rosebush. "I miss them."

Natsume knew she was seeing more than an empty historic house. "I imagine people will be most interested in what the Anju sisters have to say about the Prime Minister."

"I'm not his biographer. I don't focus on him. His is a fascinating and unique story, but it's not the only one." She straightened her spine and seemed to make an effort to return herself to the present. "I've been working on one aspect of the Anju house or another since high school. But I'm done with it now."

"What's next?"

"It'll open to the public at some point. There's still a lot to be sorted out. Parking, visitors' center, rest rooms. Who does what. The trust, the federal government."

"Narumi didn't want it?"

She shook her head. "He thinks Himemiya and Shizune would have approved of its fate in their own way. Imagine. They opened their door one morning and found him right here on this porch."

"In an apple basket," Natsume said, remembering their conversation from the other night in Tokyo over beer and half-eaten quesadilla. He leaned against the porch rail, still feeling their kiss, the eagerness of her mouth on his. But she was off in Anju land, the house a living and breathing entity to her. "Think one of the sisters had him and just didn't want to admit it?"

"It's possible, but very unlikely. They were both well into their thirties when they found him."

Reo Mouri rounded a mass of red roses.

"And our Dr. Sakura no doubt knows more than she'll ever tell," he said pleasantly. "I should practice my eavesdropping skills and see what I can learn."

Mikan's laugh struck Natsume as polite more than heart-felt. "I had a professor who often said that one can tell a good paper as much by what's not in it as what is. I imagine I know more about this land and the people who've lived on it than anyone in their right mind would ever want to know. But, everything I have, I've turned over to the Anju House Trust."

Reo leaned on the rickety rail of the porch steps. "I've heard you picked through the Anju family dump."

"The word is excavated."

He grinned at her. "Find any old diaries?"

"You are hopeless, Mr. Mouri," she said in an exaggerated Scarlett O'Hara accent.

Reo looked at Natsume, and then motioned vaguely up the river. "My fishing camp's just up the road. It has a tricky gas stove. I almost blew myself up just now trying to light up the pilot and decided to take a walk to calm my nerves. I heard the two of you out here."

Mikan sat on the step. "What are you planning to cook?" she asked.

"Your prune cake got me hankering for real southern food. I was going to try my hand at fried apricot pies – oh, Reo! I adore fried pies."

She was into her southern thing. Natsume watched her cheeks go dead-pale to rosy. Next time, he thought, amused, instead of kissing her, he'd bring up southern food. But he understood – it was distraction.

Reo was having fun, too. "I like them still warm, sprinkled with confectioner's sugar –"

"They're not easy to make. I tend to burn them."

"If I bring you fried apricot pies for breakfast, will you get me an interview with your friend the minister?"

"You are incorrigible, Mr. Mouri." She was good-natured about his relentless, open push for her trade on her friendship with Narumi – it seemed to be a conversation they'd had before. "It used to be that not many people even knew we were friends. Now – well, that's changed, hasn't it?"

"People knew," Reo said, suddenly serious. "They just have such enormous respect for your family that they didn't want to intrude. Even nosy reporters like me." But seriousness didn't last.

"Agent Hyuuga, you work for the president, don't you? Technically. The Alice is part of the Department of Justice. Your boss is the director, his boss is the attorney general – and _his_ boss is the minister. There. _You_ could introduce me."

Natsume didn't respond. He'd never met any of the Ministers in office during his years as an agent, and he didn't joke about them.

"Ah. I see I stepped over the line. Well, I don't want to get anyone into trouble, least of all me." Reo patted his stomach. "I think I'll go wrestle with my stove and try my fried pies again. I'll bring something by if they come out."

"I hope you will," Mikan said.

After he was gone, she leaned into Natsume and whispered, "I know where there's a key."

Great. He was going to get a tour. "What about the alarm system?"

"I have the code. If I told Reo, he'd want a personal tour. At this point I think most of what he has on Minister Anju is off the Internet, although I understand he's interviewed most of the neighbors, even ones who moved in long after Narumi left."

"Your family?"

"He's tried. My parents don't give interviews about Narumi."

"What about Ruka?"

"He doesn't, either. Nor do I. We made that decision a long time ago, before Narumi went into politics. He had an unusual background, and we all adored Himemiya and Shizune – we knew sooner or later someone would take interest in his story."

"I think your buddy Mouri has the hots for you."

She blushed. "Not everyone think that way."

Reo did. Natsume didn't know yet about the property manager.

The house was cool and antique, as if the two maiden sisters had just stepped out. Not much dust. Mikan explained that it was cleaned and the yard mowed on a regular, if not totally adequate, basis.

On a marble mantel, there were pictures of Himemiya and Shizune, two beautiful women who'd raised a Minister, and of Narumi Anju as a little boy, a teenager, a college graduate – and as the governor of Kyoto.

"They never wanted him to leave Northern Woods, but they were proud of him," Mikan said. "They and my grandmother died within two years of each other when I was in college. You passed the little church cemetery where they're buried."

Natsume wandered with her through the drawing room and the library, the kitchen, the butler's pantry, and upstairs to the bedrooms. "Did the family have money?" he asked.

"When they built this house, they did. It didn't last. Himemiya and Shizune weren't ashamed of it. They had a small inheritance, but they both worked in a local bank for years. They were very pragmatic when it came to money." She caught herself. "I'm sorry. I'm boring you."

"Not yet. You're passionate about your work. I can see that."

"This house, Himemiya and Shizune –" she glanced around the small room, not seeing what was there now, Natsume thought, but what had been there. "It really is hard to believe I'm done with all this."

"Did you interview your father?"

"Definitely. He's between the Anju sisters and Narumi in age. People have even speculated that he could be Narumi's father, but –" She shook her head. "He's one in a long, long line of possibilities. There's just no evidence. It could have been anyone."

"There's DNA these days."

She smiled slightly. "Yes, there is. Shall we go, or do you want to hear more? I hope it's been a distraction, at least."

"I could do worse for distractions." And better, he thought, noting the curve of her hip. "My uncle would have me wallpapering my sister's old room."

"Wallpapering could be therapeutic."

"You haven't seen Persona's taste in wallpaper."

She headed across the lawn and back onto the path along the river, warning him about mosquitoes, chiggers and ticks, telling him how river was higher now, because of the dams, than it had been when the Anju had built the house after the Civil war.

No more pleasant, exaggerated southern accent. No more charm and laughter and relaxed talk.

Something about him had gotten under her skin. Natsume had no idea what.

Finally she spun around him on the narrow path, her face flushed with exertion and emotion. "Has it occurred to you that the letter from Tokyo has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you? That its ruse – the shooter or whoever sent it saw me in Tokyo and decided to throw you off the scent."

"I'm not on the scent. I'm one of the victims."

"You don't expect me to believe that, do you? You're not here just out of noble concern for my safety, or to put Ruka's mind at ease. You're here because you think Kokoro Yome and his team are on the wrong track."

Natsume hated to see fear back in her hazel eyes. "I don't know what track they're on."

"Kuonji. Agent Yome hasn't given up on him."

"Because witnesses place him –"

"It doesn't matter. You think the answer to the shooting are here."

"It's not that clear-cut," Natsume said. He found himself wanting to see her smile, to ease her tension and fear – maybe because it would help ease his own he smiled. "Except for one thing. I doubt I'm putting Ruka's mind at ease. He thinks I'm here because you're pretty."

"She gave him a direct look. "Are you?"

He met her gaze, one she'd probably used to wither more than a few men by now, and shrugged. "It doesn't hurt."

She sighed. "I see now why Hotaru warned me about you."

"Hotaru? What did she say?"

"That you're hell on women."

She turned and started back down the path, the late afternoon sun catching the pale highlights in her hair.

He grunted. "And exactly what are you on men?"

She glanced back at him and smiled. "Nothing. I've been too busy for men."

Afraid of men, maybe. At least distrustful. She must have had a man or two who'd wanted her because of her looks and never beyond them to the woman underneath. Natsume wasn't so sure he wasn't one of them – although the past few days had been a crash course in what made Mikan Sakura tick. The trauma of the attack on her brother had stripped away her defenses. Natsume didn't know what the hell it had done to him.

"You're not busy anymore," he said to her back.

She stumbled, but grabbed a thin tree and righted herself. And pressed on without so much as a backward glance. Which was a good thing; because Natsume didn't think he could hide just how much he wanted her. But she was a smart woman. She probably knew that.

* * *

What do you think? Any comments? or Violent reaction? (Just in-case you have...)

Please Review so I'll know what you think about this chapter.. all of your opinion(s) are welcome :)

I wanted say Thank You to those who read (that includes my ghost/silent readers), reviewed, followed, and added LDWAL in their favorites list... :))

* * *

Till the next chapter ;)  
XOXO  
~Claire-chan143


	19. Chapter 16

Chapter 16  
Please Enjoy :)

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Even before Mochu spoke, Shiki realized the news from Tokyo wasn't good "Natsume Hyuuga left for Kyoto this morning." Mochu said without preamble. "I don't know why."

Shiki sat back in the black leather chair in the sitting room of his Saint-Martin suite. It was time to leave Paris and go back to Switzerland. But the Sakuras were still here. Yuka is here.

"Mikan Sakura's a pretty young woman," he said.

"Agreed." But Mochu, a meticulous thought unimaginative man, would be merely stating a fact, not extrapolating from it any reason for Hyuuga to head south. "Do you want me to go down there?"

"If you have to. What's Ruka Sakura's condition?"

"Improving."

Why had someone shot him? Shiki stood up under the low, slanted ceiling and looked out his window, bicyclist pedaling past the picture of Eifel Tower. His instincts seldom lead him astray.

"The FBI agent in charge of the investigation went to see Agent Nogi again today," Mochu went on. "I doubt it was a courtesy call."

"You think something's up?"

"I don't have any additional information. Until I do, it's my advice that you go back to Switzerland and lay low until this thing gets cleared up."

Always the thundercloud. It was why Mochu would never be a real player. Shiki opened an expensive humidor and lifted out a fat, fragrant cigar. "Find out why Agent Hyuuga is there, I don't want any interference in what you have to do. Again, no footsteps back to me. None. Understood?"

"Of course."

Shiki hung up and lit his cigar. He had to trust that Mochu was up to the job. Tax evasion was a nonviolent crime, one for which many people had at least some sympathy, but the attempted murder of two federal agents and the fear generated murder by a sniper attack in Central Park weren't something he wanted tied back to him in any way, even peripherally. He was under enough federal scrutiny as it was.

Ruka Sakura and his sister were children of privilege and position, if not of immense wealth; Shiki didn't know what to make of them. They'd never had to struggle. Neither had Yuka, but she was naturally gracious and well-mannered.

It was possible Mikan had seen him at the Musée du Louvre. Likely, even.

Did it matter?

He was a fugitive simply because he'd failed to turn up for his trial on tax charges.

But the Sakuras were friends with the minister. They had their own reputations to protect. Having a wanted man turn up out of Yuka's past _would_ be a cause for concern.

Shiki savored the flavor of his cigar as he put his questions out of his mind. He debated whether he should take the risk of hiring a prostitute tonight, and then envision himself with Yuka, beautiful Yuka.

_Oh, God._

Chocking on a mouthful of smoke, he ran into the bathroom and stabbed out his cigar in the sink. He drank from the faucet, pushing back the image. Even now, he could see her at eighteen, smiling at him, taking as interest in him. What a misfit he'd been. An outsider.

The tension of knowing what was happening in Tokyo was getting to him. He hated waiting.

A prostitute, even in permissive Paris, brought with it certain hazards, to his health, to his mental well-being – to his freedom if he had the wrong prostitute, one who recognized him, who talked. It had happened once. But he'd dealt with the problem before it had got out of hand. As he had Misaki Andou.

As he would deal with any problem in Tokyo. His phone rang again. It wouldn't be Mochu. He had his orders. But few people had Shiki's number in Paris. He picked up the extension but said nothing.

"I'm going to have something you want within forty-eight hours," the voice on the other end, indistinguishably male or female, said. "Be prepared to wire five million U.S. dollars into my account. I'll call with the number when I have what you want."

Shiki sank back onto the leather chair. "Andou?"

But the person on the other end had already disconnected.

Shiki tensed the muscled in his hands to keep himself throwing the phone across the room, instead carefully, quietly cradling it. Control was essential. He had to maintain his grasp of the situation at all times, or he'd never win.

What did the caller expect to have that was worth five million dollars?

Shiki regretted having blurted a name. His men had lost track of Tsubasa Andou weeks ago.

Was he responsible for the Central Park attack?

Was it a trap he'd set?

In hindsight, Shiki knew he'd handled the former Special Forces officer badly. By not presenting authorities with a suspect for Andou's wife's death, Shiki had put his entire operation – he'd put himself – in jeopardy. The only answer now was to have Tsubasa Andou killed. The sooner the better.

Five million dollars. It was ridiculous.

Shiki didn't call Mochu back to tell him about the anonymous call. It wouldn't affect his orders. He knew what he need to do. If the trail in Tokyo led to Tsubasa Andou, distraught widower, army officer bent on revenge, then Mochu would deal with it.

Leaning back in his chair, Shiki listened to the noise of the street below him. While he wanted to recapture the urge to have a whore, he couldn't. He could only imagine his mother on her death bed in northern Japan, calling her only son – her only child – as she sobbed herself quietly into the grave.

He let the tears flow unchecked. There was no one to see them, no one in his life who cared or understood that he'd loved his mother.

_"Why?" _she cried to him over the phone _"Why didn't you just pay your taxes like everyone else?"_

But life was so much more complicated than his mother had ever been able to grasp.

Now he didn't even dare send money for her headstone.

The federal government would hound him forever. They'd never let him come home. They'd slap him in cuffs at his poor mother's grave and stick him in jail until he stood trail. He'd added how many years to his maximum sentence by running? Five years, ten years? He didn't even know.

His lawyer had urged him to surrender to Japanese authorities. They'd have been relieved if he'd turned himself over to Ruka 'Nogi' Sakura at the Musée du Louvre.

But Shiki knew if he went to prison, he'd never get out.

If his enemies didn't rat him out, his so called friend s would. One way or another, the feds would figure out that tax evasion was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to his crimes.

And once he was vulnerable, friend and enemy alike would find a way to kill him. He wouldn't last a month in prison. The federal authorities couldn't protect him.

No one would care that he planned to do good with the fortune he'd amassed. If the ends didn't fully justify the means, he knew he wasn't a mad man. Look at Rockefeller, J.P. Morgan, and Hearst. Had they led exemplary live? They all had skeleton in their closets.

"Mama, mama," he whispered. "What do I do?" But there was no answer. She was dead, gone forever.

* * *

What do you think? Any comments? or Violent reaction? (Just in-case you have...)

Please Review so I'll know what you think about this chapter.. all of your opinion(s) are welcome :)

I wanted say Thank You to those who read (that includes my ghost/silent readers), reviewed, followed, and added LDWAL in their favorites list... :))

* * *

Till the next chapter ;)  
XOXO  
~Claire-chan143


	20. Trouble, Trouble, Trouble

*sigh* I don't know where to begin.. Well you see, we're having a trouble on the reviews and the reason was because of my stupidness, I deleted some of the authors note that I made (After I upload an Update) without thinking and that's were the trouble begins so if you can notice; when you review on the LDWAL chapter 18 your review will appear on the chapter 17 same goes for the Hide and Seek.. so~ I apologize for the inconvenience... I hope you can forgive me..

~Claire-chan143


	21. Sad :(

On Hiatus For 2 months for more information just PM me or You can contact me through FB just go to my profile to see the link..


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